Gold Head, Silver Blades, Stolen Hearts
by Margo Vizzini-Montoya
Summary: An Anti-heroic Tale Part 2: A dashing pirate, a dodgy damsel, and a forsworn knight walk (leap) into Wonderland...
1. Prologue

****A/N: ****

-This is a sequel to _Gold Lock, Silver Hook, Scarred Hearts_. It will need to be read first. For those of you who have read it, thank you for continuing the journey with our anti-heroic pair.

-This was plotted during OUaT season 3 and OUaTiW season 1 hiatus. It is roughly canon up to that point, and then is very much AU. The setting is post-Neverland & post-defeat of Jafar and is the result of my mind wandering down What-If Lane and ending up at 'What if Hook and Goldilocks ended up in Wonderland for season 2 (that will sadly never happen)?'

-Disclaimer: I need to find a genie so that the following words are not true: This universe and most of its characters are not mine. I only like to pretend that they are.

So yeah, enjoy ; )

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><p><em><strong><span>Gold Head, Silver Blade, Stolen Hearts<span>**_

~0~

**Prologue**

_Camelot_

"Bedivere? The Sword…did you…?"

"Yes, my king, I returned it to the Lady of the Lake as requested," he hastily assured his wounded king. "And a hand arose from the water, catching it mid-air. Then both hand and sword sunk into the water."

"Good, good. Thank you, my friend," Arthur gasped from his cot on the sandy blood-stained beach.

Bedivere tried not to wince at this, but it was very hard. He did not like to see his king and friend so weak, so near to death.

The Battle of Camlann was over. Mordred and his rebellious followers were dead, but at such a cost. Many of Arthur's loyal knights were dead or wounded. Arthur, though, had received a mortal gut wound, and all of Merlin's magic could not heal him. He was dying.

"Knight, say thy farewells and then get out of my way. I have much to do," the wizard gruffly ordered.

Bedivere did not want to, but nor did he want to bring about his brother-in-arm's actual death. Merlin may not be able to heal Arthur here in this realm, but he knew how to send him to another, where the wizard assured them the king could be restored to his former glory. So he knelt at Arthur's cot and gripped the hand that the Queen was not, saying, "My king, my brother, it has been both an honor and pleasure to serve with you."

His king squeezed his hand with all the strength that he could muster, vowing, "It will be my honor and pleasure to serve with you again, my brother."

Bedivere with tears pouring down his face bent and kissed his liege-lord's head, hopefully not for the last time, nodded in farewell to the Queen, and then backed away.

He watched Merlin bustle about performing his rituals, combining ingredients, and whatever it was that sorcerers do.

He watched his King and the Queen board the little boat that was to take them to the land of miracles.

He watched as Merlin blessed it and called forth the gateway between realms.

He watched as a silver mist rose from the water and swallowed up his king.

He prayed that he would one day see his king return, and not just for himself, but for the kingdom as well. Now that the Table was broken, the barbarians would descend.

He was afraid that without Arthur's leadership, the Isle Kingdom was doomed.

~0~

_Enchanted Forest_

"Or so that's how the story goes," concluded the Isle refugee, before shouting, "Bar maid! Another round!"

She was already a step ahead of him, passing out drinks to him and his audience, as instructed by the tavern keeper. She was grateful that Maddy had called in sick tonight. Usually, when Isle refugees came in, Theo kept her back in the kitchen, washing dishes. Aside from that being an onerous chore, being back there kept her cut off from any news from home. And tonight, she got to hear for the first time since the barbarians invaded the Isle what had happened to Arthur, the man she had once called 'husband'.

The storyteller raised his mug and toasted loudly, "To Arthur! And his glorious return from the Land of Miracles!"

"To Arthur!" his audience shouted back before chugging down Theo's brew.

After that she was kept on her toes, serving round after round as the refugees made toast after toast. They called for the expulsion of the barbarians, for curses on Morgana for weakening her brother, and on his nephew Mordred and his followers for doing the same.

When they got to cursing Guinevere the False, she attempted to duck out. But it was too late. Somebody noticed her infamous gold hair.

Out lashed an arm, grabbing hers, and dragging her beneath a lantern, so that all could see her face.

"Oi, maid! You look like the spittin' image of our Fair Queen!" he accused for all to hear.

She tried to twist out of his grip, or to at least get away from his face, as the horrid man was actually spitting on the very word.

At this declaration, the bard, whom she recognized as a protégé of Taliesin, walked up to her and grabbed hold of her face to examine it.

It didn't take him long to recognize her, and unlike Taliesin who would have pitied her upon seeing the fear in her eyes, this bard glared at her with wrathful damnation as he announced, "Aye, it's her. This must be the rock the witch crawled back under when our King exiled her."

"Oi! Camelot! Unhand the wench," ordered the voice of her savior. It was Theo's cousin, the burly town sheriff, who had already proven his mettle to the coastal town's rougher refugee residents.

The bard had let go of her face at the sheriff's instruction, but the drunken lout tightened his grip on her arm, protesting belligerently, "And why should I?"

"You will, because you're here by the grace of _our_ king, and he does not take kindly to lynch mobs. Justice is his purview, and therefore, _mine_."

With this threat to their home of last resort, the previously riled up refugees let her go.

With a nod of thanks to the sheriff, she made her hasty escape.

Knowing that this was only temporary reprieve and that she could not endanger the kind couple who had taken her in, she quickly packed up her few belongings and some rations, bade her goodbyes, and fled into the dark of the night.

She went deeper into the Forest, hoping to leave the past behind her, hoping for a home.

~0~

_Wonderland_

"We're looking for the portrait of a tall, statuesque, blond, and stunningly beautiful woman entitled _Duchess_," Will instructed.

"Why?" Alice asked curiously.

_'Of course she did.' _Will couldn't help but sigh to himself. Alice, Cyrus, and he were running for their lives from the Black Queen's Clubs in the Checkered Hall, and Alice the Curious was taking what little time they had to ask him questions.

Knowing she wouldn't stop, he resigned himself to the inevitable and answered, "Because the Duchess of the Queen of Heart's Court - "

"The ugly one with the pointy chin?"

"Aye," he confirmed impatiently, as he continued to scan the Hall's selection of Who's Who in Wonderland. "Her painter wisely decided not to portray her as she really was, but as she saw herself." _Red head. Red head. Brunette. Raven. Male. Male. Brunette. Male. Blond. Blond. Blond, but none The Blond. Brunette. _"Anyways, the White Abbess told me that she got her hands on it, when the woman sold it at auction to settle her gambling debts."

"Get on with it, Knave," Cyrus, rudely and anxious interrupted.

"She _asked_," he defended petulantly, before continuing, "As I was saying, the Abbess acquired the _false _portrait to place in her collection for the specific purpose of being the cover for an entrance into her network of secret passageways."

"You could have just said _that_," complained the former genie.

"Have you met Alice?" he retorted irritably.

"Hey!"

"Sorry." But not really.

"No, not that!" she waved dismissively, and then gesturing with her torch, she stated, "This."

When he laid eyes on the painting she was looking at, he saw a heart-shaped face with golden blond hair and brown eyes. He almost dismissed it, as the _Duchess_ was of a woman with an oval face and blue eyes. But then he recognized her.

_'What the bloody hell? What is this doing here? She's never been to Wonderland before. I know that for a fact…I think…'_

And then his gaze began to take in the whole painting, leaving the face, but quickly becoming fixated on the distinctive infamous black choker, an elaborate, spiky-curlicued welded monstrosity that was the signature jewelry piece for _Her_.

"No, it's not her," he denied, even as he swallowed down a wave of bitter betrayal. "I left her in Storybrooke."

"But how can she be?" Alice protested, sounding equally sad and betrayed. "Look."

He did. The portrait's neighbor was of an identical woman sans tiara. It was titled: _Widow of the Black Knight_.

Quickly scanning for the title card of the first to give him some sort of explanation, he read: '_The Black Queen, 'Avenger of Wrongs'_

"I'm not sure what this is about. But I'm pretty sure we don't have time for it," Cyrus urged as kindly as he could, gaze flicking back and forth confusedly between them, when not nervously glancing over his shoulder.

"Right," Will agreed. Squaring his shoulders, he tucked away what little emotions he could feel without a heart, but not before he used his knife to carve out the painting from its frame.

They found their entrance to safety four portraits down and on the opposite side of the hall. Just in time too, as once the door swung shut, they could hear their pursuers start their clattering sweep of the corridor that they had just vacated.

~0~

_A few days later…_

"Rabbit, tell Ms. McKinley that I need her help." Alice instructed their nervous furry friend, while he stood at the edge of his Hole.

"And don't mention my name. Just give her this," he instructed cryptically, handing him a sketched copy of the incriminating portrait.

He hoped Rabbit would find McKinley. It would prove that she was indeed not the Black Queen.

He prayed that the Rabbit's aversion to tardiness would hold true, because he wanted answers and he wanted them _now._

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><p>Next chapter: <em>Reunions with the Undead<em>


	2. Reunions with the Undead

**A/N: **FYI, this chapter starts off where the bonus chapter 'Next Stop' of _Gold Lock, Silver Hook, Scarred Hearts_ left off. Enjoy.

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 1:<span>**

**Reunions with the Undead**

_"I've got you, lass."_

_"I know."_

Tawny tumbled through the swirling elongated portal. There wasn't furniture falling up or anything like that, but she felt as if there ought to have been, she was moving so slowly while everything else seemed to be spinning away from her faster and faster. It was disconcerting to say the least.

And then she was falling through normal air space, with the ground rapidly approaching.

She landed gracelessly onto an overly large toadstool, bouncing several times. Her fall to the ground was only temporarily halted by jabbing a knife into the spotted fungus top. Killian and Lancelot more or less did the same, except, of course, the pirate used his hook. The Rabbit had maddeningly landed smartly on the ground with little bouncing or disturbance to the surrounding vegetation or his outfit.

Wonderland. She had a feeling already that she was going to detest it.

She was glancing around looking for Alice, when the girl and two gentlemen stepped out from behind a nearby cluster of the fungi-on-steroids. The first was a tall, deeply tanned handsome man with a great head of dark hair, and the second was a short, skinny chap with a long thin face, broken nose, and a short haircut that was only seen in the modern world of Storybrooke.

At the sight of him, she was overwhelmed with rage, the likes of which she had not been since Camelot. And just like that fateful day in Arthur's court, she reacted by purposefully striding towards her target and hauling back and slapping the source of her furious anguish.

"Goddamn you, you son-of-bitch! _You're fucking_ _alive_. The Curse is lifted, and you decided to pop over to bloody Wonderland? Leaving me to think you dead or as good as. What the f– ?!"

Dodging the blows she was raining down on his chest, Will-_bloody_-Scarlet informed his companions, "Yeah, it's her."

Before she could use her considerable scrapping skills on the smart-arse and remedy his not-dead state, he grabbed her arms and pinned them to her side. She was so distraught that she didn't employ any of her aforementioned skills to break his hold.

When she was done trying to resist, Will declared earnestly, "The Rabbit came for me, just as he did you, and asked that I help Alice. I didn't leave on a whim, Gwen."

She made a scoffing huff, protesting mulishly, "You could have left a note. It takes less than minute."

His dark eyes filled with remorse, as they gazed searchingly into hers. After a moment, he let go of her and stepped back. "You're right," he said, and then giving a little bow, he added, "I'm sorry."

She unwisely nodded in acceptance of his apology, because the blighter felt at liberty to add cheekily, "It's nice to know that I was missed. I didn't know that you would."

Refusing to entertain his sorry arse any further, she merely rolled her eyes and muttered, "You're a daft idjit." And then pushing past him, she reached out to Alice and said, "Hello, friend. How are you?"

Her young friend smiled at her softly, her eyes lighting with joy like Tawny had never seen before, as she clasped their hands together and answered, "I'm doing much better than when you saw me last. Cyrus, too, is not dead."

Tawny's gaze flicked to the man standing solicitously behind the young woman. He was eyeing her as if she was the unstable woman she had just presented herself to be. Smiling sheepishly, she greeted him with, "It's nice to meet you, Cyrus, and I do apologize for that unfortunate display. _He_ just brings out the worst in me."

"I understand," he declared graciously. "And the pleasure is all mine, for I'm told that you are among the many that I have to thank for Alice's continued existence."

All three of them ignored Will's look of confusion, as Tawny went to finally introduce her companions. Stepping back, she reached for Killian's hand, and once clasped pulled him to her side, where he belonged, saying, "This is my – Captain Killian Jones, um, my partner and True-Mate."

She stumbled over that introduction a little, as she was not used to putting their newly developed relationship status into words. Without looking at Killian, because she was a little afraid to see his reaction to her behavior of the last few minutes, she finished, "Killian, this is Alice, her fiancé Cyrus, and our mutual friend Will Scarlet formerly of Storybrooke. And the third of my party is – "

"Lance Cart," the knight interjected unexpectedly.

Both she and Killian stilled at this. But until she had more information concerning the parchment's contents, she was willing to play along, for it might be best to keep his legendary identity under wraps.

Before anyone could return greetings, the Rabbit interrupted with a brisk, "Wonderful. Now that the social niceties and drama have concluded, can we get to the heart of the matter somewhere less out in the open?"

And just like that warm smiles disappeared and were replaced with tight-lipped grimaces. "Excellent idea. Thank you, Rabbit," Alice asserted softly, before inviting almost regretfully, "If you'll follow me?"

Seeking reassurance for the growing sense of trepidation that she felt, she briefly tightened her grip on Killian's hand, and even though she had just revealed that there was a significant part of her life that she had never discussed with him, he squeezed her hand right back and fell in step with her.

She was going to have to get very _creative_ in her attempts to make this up to him.

~0~

Alice led them to what had seemed to be an empty section of a field but was an actuality a magically concealed tent set up. It was very Arabian-Night-esqe, which would follow, she supposed, if her Cyrus was a genie.

They quickly settled themselves upon the low couches - well, she, Alice, and Cyrus did. She had no idea where the Rabbit had gone off to, and Killian and Lancelot seemed content to play the part of observers, her pirate at her back and the knight at the entrance. Will stood to the side with his arms crossed over his chest with a highly discouraging expression on his face. Tawny was familiar with this expression and stance. She began to mentally prepare for one of their infamous verbal rows.

To Alice, she asked, "So what is it that you need my help with?"

The couple on the couch across from her shared a brief look, before she answered her hesitantly with her own question, "You saw the sketch?"

"Yes, and I was wondering if you have the original."

Will produced, from what looked like an arrow-less quiver that had been strapped to his back, a roll of canvas and thrust it at her. She carefully unrolled it and laid it out for all to see, and although she was prepared for it, the image now in full color still made her feel like she had just been gored by a bull.

Before her was the image in all its oil-painted glory of her sister – Queen Guinevere of Camelot. She wore a simple but rich satiny black dress that set off her creamy porcelain skin and accentuated the golden hue of hair. The artist had portrayed her brown eyes dark with determination to match the resolute slant of her mouth. An expression she had often worn when she was on the war-path about something – seating arrangements for a banquet, Arthur's frequent absences, Tawny's latest 'infraction'. Upon her neck was a hideous black elaborately crafted choker that ruined the effect of austerity that the dress had been going for, and there was of course the amber pendant necklace.

It was the necklace that her sister always wore. It was the necklace that when Arthur had seen it upon her and not upon Tawny, he had immediately known the truth. It was the necklace that he believed held sentimental value to his wife because it had been a gift from her late father; when in actuality it was a cherished gift from her lover. It was the necklace that no doubt confirmed to Lancelot that this woman was indeed his long lost love, that he had crossed realms for.

"It's obviously not you," Will dryly observed. "So who is it?"

"No, it's not me," she agreed. She definitely could not pass herself off as this woman; possibly her cousin but not her or even a fraternal twin. They had a lifetime of experiences between them, and most of Tawny's had been spent as a tavern maid or domestic staff. Not to mention that her hair was now a honey brown shag bob rather than the golden tresses that she and her sister had once shared. "It appears to be my sister."

"Your sister? _Your sister?!_" He exclaimed, disbelief and betrayal bleeding through his irate anger.

"Yes, my sister. Half-sister to be precise." When it looked like he was going to suffer an apoplectic fit (Scarlet was changing so many shades of red), she let out a longsuffering sigh. She really didn't have the patience to deal with or to pander to his emotional hang-ups. She wasn't even sure why her resemblance to this portrait was bothering everyone else. Moreover, she had another painful conversation she had to have with her partner, explaining why she had never told him of these people.

"Will, you obviously have something on your chest. Just get it off so that we can move on to something productive. Pretty please?"

Her condescending tone was the catalyst needed for the inevitable Will-tirade. Eyes narrowing, he spat, "Fine," and then began his list of grievances. "If you've never been to Wonderland, how the hell is _your sister _here and as the Black Queen? And why didn't you mention that before? Could it be because when we first met you told me that you had never heard of Wonderland? And while we're at it, why are a black knight and a Captain Hook-wannabe with a fetish for _black_ leather in your little entourage?"

"Oi!" protested Killian.

Silencing him with a wave of her hand, she squared off with her belligerent challenger. "Don't take that tone with me, William. I _didn't _lie to you. I _had_ never heard of Wonderland when we first met. Killian's here because he's my partner. For the record, he _is _Captain Hook, and if the roles were reversed, I would follow him to Neverland and beyond if he asked me to. Lance is here because he has unfinished business with my sister. And they are in black because that is a common color of clothing, and Killian looks damn fine in it."

"Why, thank you, love," Killian interjected, no doubt smirking with satisfaction behind her back.

"I'm only stating fact. Don't preen, Jones."

Alice, Cyrus, and Will looked at them incredulously for what they must have thought was an inappropriately timed flirtatious exchange. But if they were to have their help, they were just going to have to get used to it.

"As for my sister," she continued. "Guinevere was sent with her severely wounded husband to a 'land of miracles' by Merlin to heal. I suppose, the Land of Wonder and Impossibility qualifies…Do you – ?"

She was cut off by exclamations from both Will and Alice of: "Merlin?!", "Guinevere? Husband? – as in King Arthur?", and "Of the bloody Round Table?"

"Heard of them, have you?"

Ignoring Killian's drawled question, Alice focused on their tall, silent companion, her mind rapidly connecting the dots. "If the woman is Queen Guinevere of Camelot, then that makes you, Lance Cart, Lancelot the Knight of the Cart, doesn't it?"

"Yes, m'lady," the man admitted reluctantly. "And if you don't mind could you kindly tell us where you found this painting?"

Alice looked at him with sympathy, as she said, "In the Checkered Hall. It was titled "_The Black Queen, 'Avenger of Wrongs'_". Next to it was one titled '_The Widow of the Black Knight._'"

"Widow?" Tawny gasped. "Do you know how he died?"

Cyrus shook his head in sympathy, (he and Alice were quite the compassionate pair). "We know next to nothing about the Black Court. Our attention has been considerably focused on the other half of the board."

His reply forestalled her asking any of her other questions such as how King Arthur became the Black Knight and how the wife of a knight becomes a queen.

It also prompted Killian to place his hand comfortingly on her shoulder, even as he remarked in amusement, "_'Avenger of Wrongs'_, huh? Perhaps, the two of you are more alike than in looks, my Avenging Angel."

He was saved from her wrath for daring to make such a horrid comment by their audience's confused looks.

Deciding it was a good of time as any to destroy Will's preconceived notions of Captain Hook, she shared, "Since you left, Killian has helped Swan rescue Henry Mills from the evil clutches of Peter Pan. He also helped me rescue Pongo from King George's henchmen, rid the town of Cruella De Vil, shut down Stromboli's drug ring, and liberate the Little Mermaid from D'Arque's asylum, which foiled the nefarious plans of Maleficent and Ursula. And," she concluded with a shrug, "in the course of doing all this, we earned the aforementioned alliterative moniker."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Killian adorably rubbing the back of his head and his skin tingeing pink beneath his scruff. Almost just as entertaining, was Will's gratifyingly abashed expression. And because she hadn't quite forgiven him for causing her to mourn him for two years, she needled, "So what have you been up to?"

Will, who had effectively had the wind taken out of his wrathful sails at the talk of the legends and Disney characters, just smirked at her as he nonchalantly rattled off, "Oh, well, I've been helping Alice rescue Cyrus from Jafar's evil clutches, during the course of which, I was a prisoner of Grendel, turned into a salt pillar, genie-fied, and forced by necessity to team up with the woman who broke my heart, Cinderella's eldest step-sister Anastasia when she became the Red Queen, and who caused me to beg the Queen of Hearts to take mine, all so we could trick Jafar into becoming a genie."

At the end of this little speech, Tawny sat in momentary silence just trying to absorb it all. Noticing the way the other two winced at his mention of Will's ex, she stated, "I take it that since she is not here, the Red Queen is part of why you don't like the Black Queen."

Plopping down to lean against the tent pole, he morosely replied, "After I became a genie, Fate was a cruel bitch, and she was the one to find my bottle and become my mistress. Once Jafar was defeated, I basically told her to make her three wishes so that I wouldn't have to ever see her again. Instead, she left to go get my heart. In her note, she said something along the lines of 'I don't expect you to love me again or even forgive me, but once I'm gone, I want you to love again.'"

When he didn't say anything more, Alice picked up the tale, actually answering Tawny's query. "When she went to the Abbey to get Will's heart, she was caught by the patrolling Black Clubs and is being held in the Queen's Tower. We don't know what she has planned for her, but it can't be good, because she had the White Abbess beheaded for trumped up charges of sedition."

"'Trumped up'?" Lancelot's voice rumbled from his corner of the tent.

"She never had any political leanings," Will explained, "White, Black, or Red."

Although knowing Wonderland's politics would shed some light on the reason for Guinevere's incarceration of Scarlet's Red Queen, Tawny couldn't help but snigger, "You left your heart with a nun?"

He shot her a foul look that obviously said 'That's your take away, really?', but he still answered her, "Nothing safer for a man's heart than a woman not interested in sex, money, or power."

Alice continued her explanation, "The problem is that Anastasia took Will's bottle with her, and we think that the Black Queen now has it. Since you seem to know her and have unfinished business with her, we were wondering if you could help us get Ana and the bottle back."

Tawny was torn. She wanted to run. She and Killian had a future, a good one, and she didn't want her sister to ruin her chance at happiness like she had done so many years ago. But she also wanted to stay, to get answers, to bury the past and silence the ghosts, once and for all.

She turned and looked at Killian, hoping he would see all this in her eyes, read it, and understand like he was so good at doing, hoping that he would help her make her decision.

His gaze did search hers and his blue eyes did soften in understanding and resignation. He reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, his fingertips caressing her cheek, as he said, "Lass, you do what you have to do, and I will do all that is within my power to make that possible."

She wanted to reach up and pull him to her for an extensive kiss of gratitude, but she had been raised with a work-now, play-later creed so she merely grasped his hand, giving it the briefest if most heart-felt of squeezes before she got down to business.

Turning to Lancelot, she said, "I know that right now, being so close, you're going to want to go and be with Guinevere. But I ask you to hold off on revealing yourself until we know what her agenda is. I don't want to blunder into something we don't understand and have our little family drama to result in kingdom devastation…again."

The knight did not look to happy about this, but he dipped his head in acknowledgement, confessing, "It is not what I want, but I'm no longer so blinded by love that I cannot see that she will choose her desires over us and our love."

If his actions backed up his pretty speech, Tawny realized that she could find it in herself to forgive him for all that he had done to her in love's blindness.

After returning his nod, she twisted back around and said to the waiting trio, "I'll help you, but I need more information. Do you know anyone, a maid, perhaps, who might know what her agenda is?"

All three of them shared a look with each other, before Alice grinned widely, replying, "We know a Tweedle."


	3. Bridging the Gap

**Chapter 2:**

**Bridging the Gap**

_London, England_

Alice stared at her cup of tea. Her _final_ cup of tea. The one that would bring her misery to end. The one that would reunite her with Cyrus.

That is, if she didn't go to hell, for what she was about to do.

It was worth the risk, however. Cyrus was dead. Her father had a new wife and daughter and didn't want her anymore, not the way she was now. Her elder sister took her in, but she was so overwhelmed with her problems – her husband, children, gossiping matrons – that 'poor delusional Alice' was no doubt a burden to her. Why shouldn't she just end not only her suffering but everyone else's as well?

She picked up the cup and nearly had it to her lips, when –

"Miss Alice, I believe you about Wonderland."

Alice stilled, cup paused midair, as she looked to the woman standing in the doorway, who had made such an outrageous comment. _No one_ believed her about that. _Ever_.

"Are you mocking me?"

Her niece and nephew's new nanny with the bright gold hair and warm brown eyes glided towards her to sit in the chair next to hers – without permission. How forward of her.

"No," she replied with a gentle shake of her head. "I am not. I am sympathizing with you, as I am from another land, a place called the Enchanted Forest, and I know how lonely it can be to be the only one who knows of it." She looked kindly at her, before waving at the tea cup and adding, "Although I wouldn't go so far as _that_. Belladonna can cause you to have a horrific maddening episode before death."

"How did you - ?"

"I saw you pick it in the garden. I tried to get to you sooner, but your nephew is quite the handful."

Alice did not know what to say to all this. She felt shame from being caught. She felt frustrated at being stopped. She felt curious about this woman and her otherworld…

"I'm not – I'm not drinking – It's not because no one believes me. It's because my love is dead," she blurted.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Ms. McKinley stated empathetically.

Alice wanted to blurt 'He was a genie' to see her reaction, but she refrained and accepted her kindly meant solicitude, whispering a quiet, "Thank you."

The nanny nodded her head, and then with more sensitivity than anyone had yet shown her, Ms. McKinley observed thoughtfully, "It must be a terrible burden, your loss, especially since you haven't been able to grieve him properly."

Before Alice could agree or pertly inquire as to what constitutes 'proper grieving', the nanny instructed with genuine interest, "Tell me about him."

That request was all she needed to let the floodgates open. She held nothing back. She told of his being a genie, of their adventures together, of his kindness, of his belief in her, of his love for her…

At the end of it all, her audience declared softly, "Your Cyrus seems to have been an exceptional man."

"He was."

"And I hope you don't think me too forward, but I would imagine that he would want you to live, not only for your sake or for your family's, but for his as well, that he would want you to live the full life that he cannot."

The truth of what she said hit Alice and with horror she pushed away the tea cup that she had been toying with throughout the conversation.

Ms. McKinley patted her hand, giving it a brief squeeze of comfort, before picking it up and emptying its contents in the fire.

~0~

_Storybrooke, the Rabbit Hole_

_The day after Emma came to town…_

"That's quite the hustle you got going on there," chuckled a woman with a low contralto voice.

Will turned and faced the blond who had joined him at the bar, replying only with a noncommittal, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, almost as good as a whore having her 'first' orgasm ever."

At this brazenly vulgar comparison, he spewed his drink, very narrowly missing the bartender, who shot him a dirty look. When he was finally able to reply, he sputtered his protest, "Al-" (cough) "-most?"

Note, that he did not deny the truth of her accusation or the crude imagery. No, what he objected to was her assessment of his game.

"Mhmm… I highly doubt you could have gotten away with it, if it had been quick-tempered Leroy and not the far less quick Larry," she replied with a noncommittal shrug, sipping away at whatever it was that she had on the rocks.

He eyed her up and down. She was slightly taller than him, but only because of the killer boots she was wearing. She had that whole 'I'm-gutsy-and-ready-to-take-you-on' vibe going for her in her tight black pants, tucked into said killer knee-high buckled boots, and in her low cut, bust accentuating, black and maroon vest with its gold buttons and trim. Her hair, which was dark blond at the roots and pale gold at the ends, was pulled up into a pony-tail with a black bow that was just begging to be untied.

Will mentally shrugged. She was attractive. He was bored, so...

Turning on his most charming grin, he asked, "Do you care to join me for a celebratory drink of my victory, Miss…?"

"Gwen McKinley, and only if you teach me a few of your tricks."

He arched his eyebrows, inquiring, "You mean the ones that are only 'almost as good'?"

Gwen replied with another casual shrug, explaining with unabashed frankness, "'Almost as good' is still not bad, and I can always use the extra cash."

~0~

_Storybrooke_

_May 13th, 2012_

_8:14pm_

Will was watching The Game – Manchester City versus Queens Park Rangers for the Premiere League title. He and his mates from work had been watching the NBA playoffs all day, but nothing beat good ol' football, and not the American kind. Of course, none of his Yankee friends shared his opinion, which was why he was watching it home alone.

Cracking open his ice cold beer, he mused that despite his solitude, it was the perfect way to spend a Sunday night. Of course, that is when it hit him – The Pulse.

He gasped and sadly dropped his beer (not that he noticed, to his regret, until much later). No, he was far too preoccupied with the memories that flooded his mind, as if he was the victim of a Vulcan mind-meld.

_The gorgeous noble blond dressed in pink satin who caught him red-handed, who with a sly, coy wink taunted, "See you at the Weselton Winter Gala? I hear they have rubies ripe for the picking."_

_The clever girl who caught him in a net._

_The sassy blue-eyed blond who met him at the Falls with a bottle of her mum's best champagne to celebrate his recent 'pickings.'_

_The two-toned blond with hazel eyes who took to pick-pocketing and poker like a sailor to the sea and who had the foul-mouth of one too._

_The spitfire who became his friend, hustling pool, and then __**more**__ than a friend, hustling horizontal style._

_The woman who tasted of strawberries._

_The woman who tasted of honey and vanilla._

_The woman who dared to leave all behind and jump into a new world, into a new life._

_His love who found him wanting, who left him for jewels and power._

_His loner waif of a friend too scared and scarred and proud to let anyone in, to have him be a source of strength, whom he rejected in kind._

_The girl who dared to steal his heart back from the Queen._

_The not-a-nanny who marched into a pub, a Mad Hatter at her back, and offered him a new life, as long as he was willing to be Cursed._

When the room quit spinning and the ghosts of lives' past returned to hell, Will swore a blue streak. He did not cry. He couldn't. He felt empty, as per usual, but now he knew _why_. His heart. Ana.

'_Down with the bloody Red Queen.' _He wanted, no _needed_, a drink, something stronger than what he had here.

He was halfway to the Rabbit Hole, when he realized that Gwen would go there first thing too. He wasn't ready to face her yet. He had been a right arse the last time he saw her; and now when he could use a friend to talk to, he wasn't entirely sure he was welcome.

_'Bullocks. Granny's, it is then.'_

~0~

_Wonderland_

_Present…_

At her suggestion of Tweedle, Rabbit finally made his presence known, popping out from wherever he had been eavesdropping to say, "Our Tweedle has been at Heart Court, explaining to his family why he didn't notice his younger, if taller brother's disgraceful disloyalty. We can meet with him mid-morning if we leave at dawn."

They all agreed to the plan, even Ms. McKinley who looked exhausted from her quite emotional arrival to Wonderland.

As weary as she looked, she did not seem eager to retire for the evening, for while she and Cyrus were attempting to arrange bedding in the tent's cramped quarters, Ms. McKinley grabbed her partner's hand and declared, "We're going for a walk. Don't wait up," before slipping from the tent.

As soon as they were gone, Alice could not help but note aloud, "She is nothing like I recall."

Will snorted, "She is _exactly_ how she was in Storybrooke. All hell-cat and _most definitely_ un-governess-like."

Something in his tone caught her attention, and she accused, "You say that almost with admiration. Were you two …_intimate_ over there?"

He smirked, "Yeah, when we weren't fighting. We were f–" He stopped to amend, smirk spreading wider at the sight of their furry friend, "Screwing like rabbits."

Alice blushed at his crudeness, while all three _gentlemen_ shot the Knave a baleful glare.

Not really wanting to know the details, but still curious, she asked, "Does it bother you that she is with this Captain Jones now?"

"Do you mean, do I love her?"

She nodded her head.

He shook his, admitting, "Attracted to her, yes. I seem to have a thing for blonds who enjoy the thrill of thievery. But even if I had my heart, I think I'd only see her as a friend."

Alice was troubled by all that she had heard. Intimate relations with someone who was not your betrothed or love went against all she believed, and it hurt her to think that the sweet woman she had known was anything like what he described.

Will must have seen her expression, because he said, "I knew her while she was Cursed. I think it brought out the worst in people, and she's right – I do bring out the worst in her. But from all that she said she and Hook did, she's still the good woman that you knew _and_ is highly resourceful. She'll help us, if she doesn't choose her sister over us."

From the bedroll in the corner, Lancelot's deep baritone voice rumbled, "Oh, I can assure you, she will not be doing _that_."

~0~

Killian hated Wonderland. You could never trust anyone there. And so he was understandably very wary of the three people who approached them – a lass and two men.

Even more so when Tawny went ballistic on the shorter, paler male's arse.

Nor was he set at ease, when she seemed to also know the lass and know of the other gent. Although that could have been because, he was more than a bit irked that the lass had never mentioned this Alice or talked of this Will, whom she obviously cared very much about.

He would be taking _that_ up with her later. But there was a time and place for everything and this was not it.

He was well aware that his magnanimous attitude had been bought by her staking her claim on him. He predicted that her masterful manipulation of him was going to be a source of both admiration and vexation for years to come. That is, if they survived this deathtrap of a realm.

When he got a look at the painting, he finally saw what caused both his lass and the knight's distress, and he understood why the knight had come with him – just not why the lass felt compelled to bring him.

The painting was of a lady who resembled his Tawny. It was obviously her half-sister Guinevere. He knew it was her, because his lass would have jutted out her chin when wearing her most determined and defiant expression. Moreover, the eyes of _his_ lass would have been lit with fire that the portrait's creator could not have helped but capture.

Despite his discomfort and irritation, he had managed to keep silent and be as nonthreatening as possible, but when the man insulted him with his insinuation that he was a poser – well, that just took the rum cake.

"Oi!" he protested, taking a menacing step forward.

But like the whipped seadog he was, he was silenced by the wave of his lass's hand. It was that, and he wanted to see how his chit dealt with the little weasel.

And boy, did she deliver. She defended him, made a dramatic declaration of 'Neverland and beyond', and complimented him on his leathers. He was touched, truly. It almost made up for the fact that she had been keeping secrets from him.

It was enough that he was willing to offer her comfort when she was informed that she was a sort-of-widow. But it was not enough that he couldn't resist needling her about sisterly vigilante similarities.

Finally, they got down to the heart of the matter. And while he did not want to get involved _again_ in a Queen v. Queen match-up, he could see that this was something that his Tawny-love could not walk away from.

So he renewed his vow to her, by declaring, "Lass, you do what you have to do, and I will do all that is within my power to make that possible."

~0~

As soon as it was remotely polite, she and Killian exited the tent. She felt as if trepidation and dread were haunting her every step, while they walked to the edge of the clearing. It made it impossible to gauge Killian's mood; a fact which made her anxiety skyrocket even further. A vicious cycle, it was. It also didn't help matters that he was so unnervingly quiet.

She stopped them at a rather large tree and sat down, her back to its trunk and facing the meadow. She had thought that the roots would provide relative comfort and support. She found out that 'relative' was the key word; their comfortableness was nowhere near 'just right' in her mind, no matter how much she shifted about.

Killian, who had seated himself on her left side, snorted, breaking his silence by dryly admonishing, "Give it up as a lost cause, darling."

She did so with a sigh, finally beginning their long overdue conversation with, "Killian, I have this horrible feeling, based upon all that I have heard and read about Wonderland, that it is only going to get crazy mad from here on out, so let me just say, thank you.

"Thank you for coming. Thank you for staying. Thank you for waiting to have this, until after all of _that_." She waved her hand back towards the tent to indicate that convoluted and extensive conversation.

"You're welcome," he replied, and then gesturing with his hook between them, he asked, "But what is the 'this' that we are having, lass?"

She shot him an annoyed look, not appreciating his coyness. "The conversation in which I tell you what happened to me after you got caught by Regina and went on _your_ Wonderland trip."

"And why haven't you told me before?"

Running her hands through her hair, she sighed tiredly, explaining, "Because at first I was waiting for you to ask. I had a bet with myself on how long it would take you to. But you never did, and then it just became too awkward to bring it up myself."

"Well, I'm asking now, love," he prodded with only a hint of remorse for his self-absorption.

Not that Tawny was expecting any; by waiting as long as she had, she had lost any moral high ground she could have claimed.

Grimacing, she began with, "Right, so the reason Regina made me clean her house for twenty-eight years was because I was the first and only maid stupid enough to cross her."

"She found out about you?"

"Aye."

~0~

_Regina's Castle…_

As she watched Jones' ship sail towards the horizon from her vantage point spitefully provided by the Queen, she reflected upon how she had arrived there and tried to determine what she could have done differently to avoid this predicament and how she could get out of it now that she was.

Jones had gotten into the castle, up the tower, past the guards – one of whom who shouldn't have been there, which had cost Claude his life – and into Belle's tower room. And from there it went tits up. Belle was still in the tower. Jones had gotten caught and had made some deal to get out of being the Queen's latest whipping boy. And she had been dragged before the Queen after several days of solitary confinement.

_"Do you know why I have summoned you, maid?"_

_"No, Your Majesty."_

_"A pirate broke into my home, snuck past nearly all of my men, and tried to take what was mine."_

_"I'm sorry to hear that, Your Majesty, but congratulations on apprehending the trespasser…But what does this have to do with me?"_

_"Do NOT play the innocent card with me, maid! He could not get in without help, and whose face do I see?"_

_And there it was in that thrice-blasted mirror – her earnest face surrounded by golden curls, gazing up into Jones' as she listed off on her fingers which guards would be on duty that day._

Into a dank dark cell she had been sentenced, no ivory towers for her, and three days later, here she was, most likely breathing her last breaths, watching the pirate sail away and wondering if he had ever given her a second thought as he went off to avenge his Milah.

"…He _used_ you, and then he left you. _To face me – alone_."

At the Queen's poisonous words, she stuffed her feelings of self-pity and isolation into the deep dark hole where they belonged and asked as dispassionately as she could while locking her quaking knees, "And what is to be my fate, Your Majesty?"

"Your fate is in your hands, maid," was the sinister woman's cryptic and ominous reply.

All that she, Tawny, could muster for a dignified response was a hesitant "Your Majesty?"

The vile witch smirked, obviously reveling in her confusion and fear, as she explained, "You have a choice. Your fate can be death and torture, most certainly not in that order, or you can earn my mercy by being my extremely _expendable_ emissary."

Trying not to let her insolent tongue get away from her, as it had the tendency to do in high anxiety situations, she stated, "Doing penitence sounds agreeable to me so far, Your Majesty."

The Queen nodded in satisfaction as she produced an overly large black top hat from a travel-worn box. "I need you to collect two men for me from a world that I will send you to through a portal. One is a man who used to be from here and who I left in a different realm but has somehow managed to make his way to where I am sending you, to the realm, I can only assume, is where the second is from. You are to find them and bring them back with you."

"And these men are?"

"Jefferson and Dr. Frankenstein."

~0~

_Wonderland…_

"She sent you to a world you've never been to, had no connections with, to find two men to bring them to the Forest just so that she could Curse them to another world?" Killian inquired incredulously.

"Sort of," his lass admitted, waving her hand in a so-so gesture. "She didn't tell me about the Curse. I did know of it, of course. The whole castle, even the dungeons, was buzzing of it the day you left."

"If you knew about the Curse, why didn't you just stay in the other realm?"

This extremely plausible (in his mind) inquiry earned him a scathing look of disbelief, "She did what Cora's daughter would do – _she took my heart_. If she sensed through it that I wasn't doing her will, she would have…"

Both he and the lass shuddered at the thought of what she had left unsaid. Tawny rubbed her hand over her what he knew was a beautiful beating heart, as she confessed, "It was horrible not being able to feel. But it was worse knowing that if I failed, I would never feel anything again. I didn't want to go that way, so…"

When she looked at him, her eyes were big, dark, and pleading. It set his hook into a murderous twitch, which she noticed, and so to distract him, she continued her tale, "She gave me a scarf of Jefferson's that she put a locator spell on, so that I could track him, and two dead bodies, so that I can bring them and myself back through after convincing them either by hook or by crook."

He did not get a chance to ask if that was a purposeful play on words, as it seemed that once his lass got started, she couldn't seem to stop.

She told him of how she dumped the bodies in the river. Of trying to blend in a strange gas-lit world of fast moving horse-drawn carriages, dirty wet streets, women with 'bustled skirts' and men with 'fancy cravats, monocles, and muttonchops.' Of stealing a dress and petticoat off a laundry line and money from wealthy careless shoppers.

She told of killing two men, her first – filthy men who attempted to take advantage of her unchaperoned state.

"Stabbed one in the neck and the other through the eye, and then tossed their bodies in the river too. Nearly regurgitated my meat-pie paid for by my easily stolen coppers. You were right though. The first is the toughest."

Killian let out an angry hiss when she told of the attack, but even then he did not interrupt. He listened to her tell of following the charmed scarf to a boarding house, where she overheard Jefferson talking to a young lady, this Alice, and discovering that she was the reason that he was no longer in Wonderland.

He listened to her tell of deciding to use Alice as a way to gain Jefferson's trust, of following her to her home. Of chatting up the stable lad who informed her that the family wasn't in need of a maid but rather a nanny for Alice's niece and nephew and that the position required references from a 'fancy agency.'

"When one of these nanny applicants showed up, I bumped into her, lifted her reference letter, and then from one working girl to another, I informed her that I had just left the family and had been told the position was already filled. Would you care to guess what the real nanny's name was?"

"Since the lass and the Rabbit both called you 'Ms. McKinley', I assume it was that."

Tawny snorted, "Yep, and that was how I acquired my Cursed surname."

"How did you acquire the lass's and Jefferson's trust?" he prompted.

"I saved her from killing herself."

He listened patiently as she told of Alice introducing her to Jefferson. Of afternoon teas and learning of Grace. Of confessing her situation and purpose to the desperate father.

"And like a true manipulative bitch, I used his daughter as bait. 'You'll be one step closer to her' and all that tommyrot."

"And Whale?" he prompted. He didn't attempt to assuage her guilt. She was like him in that she would not appreciate it, especially since there was some truth to it.

With a shrug, she replied, "He wasn't in that world. Whatever magic that Regina used to discover Jefferson's whereabouts was limited. The second person that it sensed was Will, another Forest native. The two of them had escaped Wonderland with Alice. Jefferson found a job at a hat shop, and Will became a hackney driver. Jefferson kept tabs on him."

"How did you convince him to go with you?"

"Eh, that was easy enough," she dismissed with a sniff. "Just like here, he had gambled himself into quite a lot of debt. He wanted a fresh start and a chance to forget the girl who broke his heart. Aside from Regina and Rumplestiltskin, I think he was the only one who was looking forward to the Curse."

This thoughtful assessment was followed with, "Once he was on board, we went to say our goodbyes to Alice, but she had been shipped back to her father's house…I'll have to ask her about that tomorrow…"

And then she told of Jefferson saving her from the Queen's wrath for bringing the unwanted Will and not the desired doctor. His heroic deed involved collecting Frankenstein for the price of Tawny's heart and his 'seeing' his daughter again.

Killian could see where this was going and noted dryly, "And, of course, our fair Evil Queen held up her end of the bargain by giving him an excellent home with an excellent vantage point to 'see' Grace through his telescope, did she not?"

"Yeah," his lass sighed, no doubt feeling guilty for her part in her friend's cruel fate.

Sensing an end to his lass's accounting, he stated, "Well, love, I'm a bit confused as to what was so 'awkward' about that tale. I mean, despite it being a bit hypocritical of you to be holding my alliances with Regina and her mother against me. Although, I do get that yours was far more under duress than my own…"

He drifted off as he could sense his lass shifting with discomfort next to him. She stopped when she noticed that he noticed, and with an unhappy grimace she admitted to him, "That wasn't what was so awkward."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes and snark 'obviously', he prodded his reluctant lass with a patient, "What was then?"

"My relationship with Will during the Curse," Tawny mumbled.

_'Goddess, I'm a pirate, not a saint. Why does she try my patience so?' _With last shred of said dwindling patience, he asked, "Which was?"

"We were fuck-buddies."

~0~

_Alice and Cyrus' Tent…_

When the knight did not elaborate further, Alice resumed her conversation with Will, saying, "You know, I can kind of understand her fury at your disappearing without saying goodbye, especially if that was the kind of relationship you were having."

"It wasn't. She dumped me."

"Dumped?"

"Ended the relationship," he explained. "She fed me the 'Let's just be friends' line, and apparently, that hit a little too close to home even though I couldn't remember Ana. I said some pretty nasty stuff and cold-shouldered her after that. When the Curse broke, I was working up the courage to find her and apologize when Rabbit showed up, and well, the rest is history."

"But now you have a second chance. Do you want it?"

Will took a moment to think, before admitting, "Yeah, I do. For the 'friends' part, that is." With a chuckle, he added, "I think I'll pass on being skewered by Hook."

At this Cyrus interjected with a wry warning, "You better hope that he is the forgiving sort, because I think the topic of their walk's conversation is how she knows Alice and you."

"Bloody hell."

~0~

_'I'm gonna skewer the little weasel' _was his first thought upon Tawny's declaration. His second was…

"For twenty-eight years?"

"Oh god, no!" _his_ lover exclaimed, hastily explaining, "It was in that in-between time – before Swan broke the Curse but after she arrived. We met at the Rabbit Hole. I had just worked my first 'volunteer' shift at the animal shelter and was amused by his hustling at the pool table. We shared a few celebratory drinks and later I convinced him to teach me a few tricks so that I could earn some extra money."

"Have a thing for teachers, do you?" he snidely and cruelly remarked. His gentlemanly understanding was gone with his sore-pressed patience.

"Don't be that way," Tawny half-pleaded, half-ordered.

"What way?" If she had the audacity to order him about, he had the right to act obtuse.

"Jealous. Possessive. Cruel."

"How should I act?"

He said this derisively, but he truly wanted to know. He was a pirate, and he had just learned that his woman, whom he had bared his soul to on numerous occasions, had failed to mention a lover of recent significance. On top of that he was sure, Jefferson had had a good laugh at his being in the dark about their past association.

"I don't know. But not like this," his fiery lass replied with frustration, and then with great bitterness, she added, "I don't act like this about Milah or Swan."

"At least I told you of them," he defended with equal bitterness.

"Yes, you did," she admitted. But then because she was Tenacious Tawny, Mulish to the End, she added spitefully, "But I'm sure there are others who have shared your bed."

At her words, a sudden horrible thought hit him: "Wait. The apartment. He was the former tenant. The bed that we…did you two…?"

"No, I bought that when I moved in. You are the only one who has been in _my_ bed, the only one to have such a hold on my heart. And for your information, I ended the relationship, losing his friendship in the process before the Curse broke."

He took great satisfaction at hearing that last part, even more so than her declaration of his claim on her heart. It was bad form, he knew, especially since the loss still hurt her so; but he was a possessive cad, and no matter how reformed a pirate he was, a tiger cannot completely change his stripes. Despite this, he managed a solicitous, "Why?"

Tawny sighed, "Giselle made some comment about how I was 'practically living in his apartment,' so I was 'practically his girlfriend', and I freaked. I knew that I didn't love him in that way. He's a self-centered ass – which I kind of get now, knowing that he doesn't have a heart. And I felt that I was whoring myself just for a place to live. So I cut off the 'benefits'. He felt rejected, and being the ass he is, he ended it all."

By now, his lass had her knees drawn up to her chest and was hugging herself. Normally, he would have drawn her into an embrace at this action, but he was too furious, even while he yet wondered if her fear of 'whoring herself' was the result of her interactions with her other former lover, Arthur.

Without looking at him, Tawny continued, "When the Curse broke and he was gone with no explanation, I thought that he had crossed the town line so that he could continue to forget who he was or that someone he had pissed off in a former life found him and killed him."

At her admission, she subconsciously turned into him, seeking comfort. Her action thawed him. He might not be able to initiate affection, but he could not find it in himself to outright reject her. So he found himself pulling her closer to him and rubbing soothing circles on her back.

After a few moments of this, he realized that she was his. Even though she was just reunited with a man she had long thought dead, she was in _his_ arms. He took satisfaction from that and let go of the rest…for now.

Instead, he changed the subject and asked, "Why by all the stars do you wish to reunite your sister and her lover? They don't deserve your forgiveness, much less your help."

Tawny took a moment to catch up to his sudden mood and topic shift, finally answering with a quiet, "She might not, but he's suffered enough."

Killian made a scoffing huff.

Tawny turned in his arms, so that she could look up into his face, asserting quite firmly, "Killian, not that I don't appreciate your loyalty, but this antipathy you have for Lancelot needs to stop. We're in Wonderland – which, if I'm not much mistaken, means we need all the skilled allies we can get."

While Killian could admit there was truth to that, he was not one to let go of a perfectly righteous grudge.

Taking his silence for what it was, Tawny persisted, saying, "And yes, he has suffered. Imagine how you would have felt if Milah had chosen to go back to Rumplestiltskin because her rival milk maid or whatever had fooled him and their son into believing she was her?"

At his glower, she proclaimed with a self-satisfied nod, "Exactly," and then, she mused with a shrug, "Besides, I don't think I will be reuniting them. At the most, for him, I'm providing the possibility of closure."

"For her, if she is this Black Queen?" he asked curiously, astounded once again with her capacity to forgive.

Tawny shrugged again, "A gesture of gratitude?"

Her answer bewildered him. For what did she owe that bitch?

Reading his confusion, his lass looked at him with warm brown eyes and elaborated softly, "If it weren't for her actions in exposing me, I wouldn't have met you."

And there went his rage at the Bitch, her knight, and his secretive lass.

Trying not to show the warm puddle of goo she had turned his insides into, he 'preened' with a droll rejoinder, "Now that would have been a travesty of epic proportions."

Not fooled for an instant, his savvy lass leaned up and kissed him, whispering, "Yes, it would."

~0~

When she felt Killian return her kiss, she nearly sighed in relief. It wasn't a harsh, biting, or punishing one of a jealous lover. It was ardent and affectionate – greedy and possessive, yes, but still generously affectionate.

When a different sort of sigh threatened to break through, she pulled back and divulged with a chuckle, "This is not how I planned for tonight to go."

"Oh?"

Toying with his necklace, she rested her head on his shoulder and whispered, "Yeah, I definitely did not plan on having the conversation with you in which I reveal being the Evil Queen's li'l bitch and in the process being a murderer, thief, and con-woman. Or having the conversation about exes. Yep, that was not on the agenda for post-Ariel and Eric nuptials."

"What was?" he rumbled softly. _Provocatively_. Her pirate knew the effect his voice had on her, and he probably had had a similar agenda of his own.

Imagining what that had been was like playing with fire, so she seized what she assumed was going to be a rare moment of privacy and swung her leg over his lap and straddled him, before leaning down and breathing huskily, "Shall I tell you, demonstrate, or both?"

Killian's breath hitched, before he did his own husky breathing into her ear, "I'm a greedy pirate, love. It's _always_ both-and."

And then his sensual mouth began to trail kisses sinfully down her neck.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thoughts?


	4. Hatter's

**Chapter 3:**

**Hatter's**

_The next morning…_

They left the tented sanctuary at the ass-crack of dawn and hiked their way through the hills to Heart Country.

Tawny passed the tedious traveling time by having Alice describe her adventures in Wonderland, when she was a child and a more detailed one of her latest than what Will's quick synopsis had supplied.

She also learned the reason why Alice had been sent back to her father's. She had caught her brother-in-law cheating on her sister, and when she had tried to tell her, Alice's 'story' had been chalked up as another lie from an attention seeking child.

Tawny gave her friend a hug at this, but what she really wanted to do was let loose a string of curses on her behalf, especially when she learned of Bedlam.

When they arrived on Tweedle's front stoop, the Rabbit knocked. A woman in a powdered wig answered, took one look at the crowd of individuals awaiting entry and hastily slammed the door in their faces. Tawny was able to hear hissed anxious whispering on the other side, before another individual with a powdered wig (male and with a red lightning bolt tattoo) poked his head out.

Looking directly at Alice, he hissed, "Not here. The Mad Hatter's at sundown. Now go away before someone sees you."

His head disappeared, and the door was shut with a decided click.

"Well, I never…" protested Alice in disbelief.

"You are known as Red Queen sympathizers in a land that does not love her, so much as fears her," explained the Rabbit, leaving off the clearly understood 'so what did you expect?'

She certainly hadn't expected this kind of reaction, and neither must have Cyrus as he asked, "Even though it must be well known by now that she helped us defeat Jafar?"

"One good deed after years of neglect is not enough in most people's eyes," was the regretful reply.

Killian nudged her. When she looked at him, his mouth twisted into a lopsided grin as he teased, "They must not share your opinion about singular good deeds and roads of redemption, lass."

"Must not," she agreed with a grin of her own.

Understandably, no one was appreciative of their inside joke, and so it was only the two of them who were smiling as they trouped back out onto the road to Jefferson's old place, especially, since the Rabbit decided to part ways with them and head on home to his family.

As soon as he was out of earshot, she caught up to Alice and stated, "I couldn't help but notice that you never explained _how_ you caught the Rabbit and stuffed him into your rucksack."

"Oh? I suppose, I didn't," Alice mused thoughtfully. "It seemed rather rude to while he was here and all."

"I thought so," she concurred. "Bad form and all, to talk about an abduction, while the victim is being so helpful."

Both Killian and Will snorted quietly at this remark. But Alice ignored it, saying, "Yes, well, the second time I came to Wonderland, I spotted him in the Queen's Wood in London, so I followed him down the Hole and trailed him to Hatter's, who was having a tea party. I was manhandled into attending it by Haigha and Dormouse, and Rabbit got away. Hatter promised to help me bag him, if I promised to take him with me to where I was going."

"Why did he want to go to your land?" she inquired. "He never would give me a straight answer."

It was Will who explained, interjecting, "His plan, and later ours, was to coerce him into taking us to the Forest, which he had adamantly been refusing to do, on account of the Curse, I suppose…But he got away from us after he returned Alice to her family."

_'Hmmm…Stranded in Victorian England by the wily White Rabbit? No wonder he eyed Grace's stuffed bunny with such disgust…'_

And so their conversation went as they made their way through the Tulgey Woods.

When they finally arrived at Hatter's, it was ironically tea time. Alice and Cyrus provided their repast, having picked up supplies at a pastry vendor's at the edge of town.

Resisting the urge to comment on the stacks and stacks of hats that littered the hovel (_'Hoarder, much?' _or _'Quite the fabric fetish our Jefferson has?' _were her two favorites), Tawny asked, "So how is it that roughly 30 years later, you look not a year older, Alice? I didn't think the Curse's time-bubble extended beyond Storybrooke and the Forest."

Alice frowned in puzzlement and reluctantly admitted, "I don't know," before beseechingly looking at her more worldly experienced fiancé.

He kindly obliged, explaining, "As I understand it, not all the realms move at the same pace. And it's possible that when Rabbit went to get the Knave, his portal skimmed around this 'bubble' until after the Curse was broken."

She contemplated this for a moment and then mused, "So it's a timey-wimey-wibbly-wobbly thing?"

Everyone looked at her like _she_ had gone hatters, except for Will, who groaned at the British pop culture reference, and for Cyrus. _He _looked at her with respect, saying, "I see you've met the Genie-of-the-Blue-Box."

She grinned widely, "Met? No. Heard of? Yes. Didn't know he was a genie. How fascinating. I always wondered if there was some truth to his fiction."

"He may not be a genie. In most of the stories I heard, he didn't seem to be confined by the normal genie laws of Three Wishes and a Master. So your versions may be more accurate," the former genie conceded. "What was he?"

Tawny never did get to answer that question, as the man they had all been waiting for had arrived, much to Will's relief, who upon seeing the man at the hovel's door had let out a muttered 'Oh thank god.'

"Tweedle, at your service," the impeccably dressed servant introduced himself with a bow.

"Tweedle? Are you the 'Dee' or 'Dum' brother?" she inquired, hoping he was the former if he was to be their reliable informant.

"It's just 'Tweedle'," Will explained, "Titles are more important in Wonderland than names."

"And who are you?" Tweedle inquired pointedly.

From over his shoulder, she could see Killian arch an eyebrow at her in anticipation of her reply. His interest was unsurprising. He had always been amused by her reluctance to share her name or any of her various aliases with strangers.

She was saved by Alice, who said, "She's a friend. She's here to help Anastasia."

"Well, I hope she can do a better job than my mistress's other so-called 'friends'," he sniffed. "I mean, letting my Queen get captured! Do you _know_ what _she_ has planned for her?"

Over Will's low growl, Alice softly pleaded, "No, we do not. We were hoping you could tell us."

"That – that head-happy _harpy_ is going to hold her on trial!" he exclaimed, and in ever increasing agitation, he revealed, "She has let all of Red queendom know that they are welcome to come and bring their complaints before her on the Ides of Ianus, inviting nobles and commoners alike, and she will render her 'impartial' judgment!"

The distraught man looked at them all with hopelessness, obviously not taking very much encouragement from the Black Queen's claim of impartiality. When they did not immediately respond, he dramatically wrung his be-gloved hands, bemoaning, "Oh, my poor mistress! She'll be executed! And that monarch is so barbaric in her executions! Do you know how she does them?"

They all stared at him blankly, taken aback by his theatrics.

"_Un-reversible beheadings._"

~0~

After that hysterical disclosure, the man collapsed onto a pile of hats. Alice offered him a cup of tea, like any good Englishwoman would, and he gratefully accepted.

Once the overwrought servant had taken a few restorative sips, Lancelot inquired, sounding quite skeptical, "Un-reversible beheadings?"

"Er… yeah," Will answered, adjusting his collar nervously. Tawny noted this and wondered if he had had a close call of his own. Before she could ask, he continued with his explanation. "A 'civilized' beheading here is done with a blade that severs the head from the body, but does not kill you."

"Jefferson was beheaded that way by Cora," she interjected, "when she was here and then later 'reversed' it. It leaves a nasty scar."

"Ah, so that explains his fondness for neckwear, even in the height of summer," her pirate in the peanut gallery chimed in drolly.

It was a comment not appreciated by Tweedle, who cried immediately in outrage, "You jest? He jests! About neckwear! When my Queen's neck is practically on the chopping block!"

Killian rolled his eyes and blandly ordered, "Calm yourself. I understand this is a grave matter."

Tweedle looked at him suspiciously, clearly unsure if the poor choice of words was intentional one or not. She knew it was and shot him a filthy look before saying to Lancelot, "It's not the beheading I find unbelievable. It's the commoners being invited to try a noble. Or even the trial in general. Guinevere was not one to 'cater to the masses' as she would put it."

Lancelot said nothing to this, as he could not refute her remark at all, since both had been witnesses to more than one argument between king and queen on this and similar subjects.

~0~

_Camelot_

_Private hall of king_

Arthur threw himself tiredly into a chair in front of the fire, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly, giving Lancelot enough time to move his hand discreetly away from the back of Guinevere's neck.

Tanwen ignored this as best she could and signaled for Arthur's squire to fetch his king some mead. Guinevere was obviously not going to see to her husband's needs. She was too busy frowning in annoyance at him.

"Another long plaintiff day?"

Arthur nodded in response to his wife's barely sympathetic query.

"I don't understand why you insist on catering to the masses. That's what the lords and barons are for."

The king looked at his wife in disbelief, clearly dumbfounded at her lack of understanding. Finally, he asked exasperatedly, "And who would you suggest that they go to when the lords and barons are _not_ doing their duty?"

Ignoring his question, she griped, "And I suppose you are going to have another one of your extensive 'investigation periods' and trials before you go gallivanting off on your next crusade? During which, you are going to stress yourself out on what is the most befitting punishment?"

Leaning back, he inquired, "And how would you meet out justice, my queen? If you have a better way, I am all ears."

There was a thread of sincere openness to his derisive invitation that Tanwen could detect. Perhaps, Guinevere did too, or else she was set on saying her piece, invitation or no. Either way, she jabbed her embroidering needle at him, as she dictated, "You are king. If you believe these nobles are not doing their job, take their land and titles or take their heads, and be done with it."

"Yes, I am king, but only because the nobles are willing to support me. If I start dispossessing or decapitating one of their own without sufficient evidence, it will be my head or your pretty one that we will have to worry about." Arthur flashed his wife a predatory grin, clearly enjoying making his wife uncomfortable with his ominous prediction.

Guinevere rubbed her neck nervously and then fiddled with her amber necklace, before snapping, "Well, we shall not have to be worrying about your handsome one, if you work yourself into an early grave or get killed in one of your foolish quests, now will we?"

Needless to say it went downhill from there.

~0~

_Wonderland_

Lancelot may have not been able to refute his lover's past Marie Antoinette tendencies, but he was still willing to be her champion. Defending her to the last, he finally suggested, "Perhaps, she has changed her philosophy with time and experience and distance from home."

"Mhmm…perhaps," was all she was willing to respond or commit to. To Tweedle, she asked, "What can you tell me of the Black Queen and her late husband?"

The manservant glanced back and forth between them, clearly suspicious of their relationship with the enemy of his mistress, but at Alice's soft, "Please, Tweedle," he calmed enough to fall into his role of gossipmonger.

"Well, I don't know much, but her people, the Black Clubs, have been singing her praises since their return to the Heartlands."

"Return?"

It was Will who explained, giving a quick synopsis, "Over a century ago, the Black Court and the White Court fought a war. The Whites won when the Reds chose to back them. The price for losing was the choice of death or banishment to the Fringes, where they would serve out the remainder of their days defending the Heartlands and Outlands from monster incursions. Most chose the latter."

Tweedle, looking not at all pleased by the interruption of historical trivia, waved his hand dismissively even as he added, "Yes, yes, with the caveat that the Courts of White and Red would send in replacements – excess sons of the noble houses and criminals and the like."

"Okay…I take it Arthur and Guinevere found their way to this lot…?" she asked hesitantly, trying to connect the dots.

Tweedle, full on scowling now, continued his narrative. "The _Black Knight _appeared with his golden lady in a boat on the shores of the Bitter Sea, injured to the point of death. They healed him – how is unknown as they all religiously keep silent on this detail – and give them shelter."

"Where upon he took up whatever was their cause instead of finding his way back to his people, who were being slaughtered by the hundreds by barbarians," interjected Lancelot scathingly.

Now there was a 'your guy is just as selfish as my girl' dig, if she ever heard one.

Tweedle shrugged, "I do not know of his motives. I do know that he quickly became much beloved by them, and that he was eventually selected to be an emissary on their behalf to the Heartland Courts, as none of them could return due to their oaths. He was to plea for more men, to remind them of their oaths, which they were neglecting. This was, of course, before my mistress became queen."

"Oh yeah, I remember hearing something about this in the Heart Court," declared Will thoughtfully, recalling aloud, "The Blacks were upset that they were not getting sufficient recruits, and that their ravens were being ignored by all the royals."

Cyrus added, "From what I remember, the Hearts had just seceded from the Red kingdom, and the Whites were gearing up for one or both to encroach on their territory, so none thought they had any man to spare."

"You knew about this?" Alice inquired, gazing at her fiancé in astonishment.

He shrugged, "I overheard a thing or two in the few taverns we stopped in when adventuring."

The two of them gazed at each other in sickening adoration as they both traipsed down memory lane, fondly recalling their past adventures. Good God, she hoped she and Killian weren't that nauseating.

Trying her best to ignore the pair, she asked, "You said 'was to plea'. Did he not?"

"No, he didn't, not to all the courts at least." Tweedle fixed her with a remorseful look as he stated, "The story goes that the Black Knight was returned to them. His head, and only his head, held in the bosom of his golden lady, who told the tale that the White King and Queen granted them audience and then chopped off his head and sent it back with her as their answer."

Tawny felt sucker punched. She couldn't breathe. Old wounds ruptured open. She had known that he had met his end, somewhere. She just…wasn't prepared for it. Not like _that_, anyways. It should have been on a battle field, not as the proverbial killed messenger…

"I take it, it was the 'un-reversible' kind of chopping?" she inquired as soon as she could draw breath.

"Yes," Tweedle replied. "When she recovered, the Widow then used his dishonorable death as a rallying cry to have the Blacks seek justice against their beloved Knight. They left the Fringes and invaded the White kingdom which was too focused on the Hearts and Reds to sufficiently defend themselves.

"The White King and Queen were executed for the crimes of oath-breaking and neglecting their duty to protect the people for the sake of retaining their own power, and the Widow was elected to become their Queen. In return she sent the defeated Whites and criminals back to the Fringes to protect the borders of the newly claimed Black queendom and pulled their protection from the Red and Heart borders, until they fulfilled their part of their oaths."

"Which is why the people blame Anastasia…" Alice mused aloud, before nervously glancing at Will.

"She'll have her beheaded too, won't she?" Will asked the room at large.

It was almost a rhetorical question. But, of course, the excitable manservant did not take it that way. Like a terrier, he yapped, "That's what I have been saying this whole time!"

Tawny, unable to bear the bickering or maintain her composure, hastily stood up and begged, "Excuse me," before dashing out of the house.

Once outside, she wrapped her arms around her middle as if she could hold herself together and tried to let the tears fall quietly. She mostly succeeded there, only making a few blubbering sniffs, as she gazed out into the darkening forest.

Killian, of course, followed her.

"Are you alright, lass?"

Although he was standing a few feet away, keeping a respectful distance, she felt as if he was right there, his low voice wrapping her in a cocoon of tender affection and concern. Rolling her eyes at her own sappy sentimentality, she sniffed and answered truthfully, "No, I'm not."

Turning to him, she stared into his beautiful blue eyes and said, "I always suspected that he was dead. The duty-bound royal arse wouldn't have abandoned his people otherwise. It's just…" she tightened her arms around herself. "It's different when you actually _know_, you know?"

"I know," he softly replied.

Taking a step towards him, she whispered pleadingly, "Hold me?"

His arms obligingly wrapped around her, and into her hair he whispered, "As you wish."

She took a deep breath and reveled in his warmth and in his comforting smell of leather, sea, and rum. Poor Lancelot. Unlike her, he did not have a partner to comfort him. Unlike her, the person he loves is a woman who chose to remain apart so that she could be queen, who chose power over love, again.

How the hell did she, Tawny, get so lucky as to have a man who chose love over all else in her life?

_'You were set upon by three bear-trappers and he rescued you, and in return you volunteered to infiltrate the Evil Queen's domestic staff…'_

At this thought, a plan began to form in her mind. She stayed in his embrace until it was more fleshed out, and he did not interrupt her with questions, just rubbed soothing circles up and down her back, even though he must have sensed the change in her mood.

Finally, she pushed herself away from him, just enough so she could lean up and give him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Better, love?"

"Much."

Before Killian could make a comment, suggestive or otherwise, they heard raised voices coming from the house. When they entered, it was to find Will and Tweedle still bickering. Over what, she did not take the time to find out. She simply intervened with a shouted, "Thank you, Tweedle."

That silenced them both. Will, to shoot her a dirty look, and the manservant, to look at her in bewilderment, so she elaborated, "For what you have told me has helped me to understand what we'll be walking into, when we try to rescue her."

"Oh? And how do you propose to do that?" he snidely challenged.

Un-phased by his rudeness, she smiled widely, "Do you have any friends in the service of the Black Court? One who might be willing to smuggle in an extra 'maid'?"


	5. Wonderland Where Things Are TARFU

**Chapter 4:**

**Wonderland, Where Things Are TARFU**

**(Totally And Royally F***ed-UP)**

_Thirty-six hours later…_

"I don't like it."

Tawny rolled her eyes at him. "You never like my plans. I don't know why. They generally always work out."

At this total untruth, he was unable to suppress a scoffing snort, even though he knew that they did not have the time for the argument that this would provoke. His lass was to be at the Obsidian Castle gates when they first opened so that she could meet Tweedle's associate. Although considering he did not like this plan, her missing the meeting would not be that great of a loss.

Stiff and bristling in offended annoyance, Tawny challenged him, "Oh? Name one plan that didn't."

"How about the one in which you ended up getting kidnapped and nearly beaten to death, love?" he was quick to retort, not believing that he needed to even really mention that one.

"Bah. That wasn't my plan's fault," she defended, arguing, "Even if you had been in town when that went down, it would have happened anyways. _And_, in this plan, you will be nearby in case the shit hits the fan."

He was not comforted. The plan was complicated. Their options were limited, and they were rushed, as Judgment Day was in less than a month. Altogether, the end result was going to be the 'shit hitting the fan'.

No doubt recognizing his dour look for what it was, his kitten hissed impatiently, "If you can come up with a better one, in which the damsel is rescued, the bottle retrieved, and the likelihood of getting caught is less than my plan, I'd love to hear it."

"Send in Scarlet. He was a thief. Let him retrieve his own bottle."

"One, he doesn't know my sister, so he doesn't know where she will hide such a pretty bauble. And two, his face has been plastered all over Wanted posters, as well as Alice's and Cyrus's."

His lass was determined and had an answer for everything, so he gracelessly conceded, "Aye, I heard all this before. I just don't like it."

In reply to his petulance, Tawny smiled at him and stroked his cheek, as she observed, "From what I've gathered, the driver of the getaway vehicle never does." And then rather abruptly, she asked, "Do you have your cell phone with you?"

Reaching into an inner pocket, he pulled it out and asked, "Why do you need it? There's no satellite to act as a go-between here."

She shot him an impressed look for his tech-savvy before answering, "I need it as collateral, for this."

She handed him her phone, and took his. He allowed the trade, but not without protest, "I'm still rather at a loss. Without a satellite or your password, this is rather useless to me, darling."

The chit smirked, as she explained, "Not for calling. It's to keep you occupied and distracted from your worries, while you wait. I have pictures and such on there, and the password is 'F-E-S-2'."

Killian was floored. His lass was not only giving him her phone, she was trusting him with the password. It was the equivalent of her giving him her heart and soul, as she had poured much of herself into that little gadget.

"And the significance of that is?"

Tawny shrugged in nonchalance, while her eyes sparkled with mischief, "It's the scientific shorthand for a mineral commonly called 'fool's gold'."

_'Ah…Another play on words of her fairy-tale name._'

"There's nothing foolish about you, lass, aside from this plan." He was not to be deterred from his objections, no matter the touching gesture.

She ignored his jibe and continued her demonstration of her cleverness, saying, "The mineral's scientific name means 'of fire'."

Killian raised his eyebrows, now he was impressed. "A play on your true name too? Aren't you the witty lass."

"And for the triple pun score…The scientific name is 'pyrite'."

_'I am pyrite-locked.'_

Wetting his lips, he glanced at hers before meeting her sparkling amber eyes, "How long…?"

"Since I had to reset it in the hospital."

Before any of their soul-baring talks then.

With that realization, he hauled her to him and kissed her like it was not only _their_ last but also like it was _the_ last kiss ever to be had in existence. She returned the favor, and by the time they were done, they were both gasping for breath and burning from the inside out.

Tawny patted his chest and took a wobbly step back. "I'm gonna go. But hold onto those dirty thoughts, 'cause I'm gonna be back to make good on them."

Killian could think of _many _dirty thoughts, and the lass knew it too, the minx.

As she walked off, he called after her, threatening, "For every day, you spend in there, is one day you and I are holed up in a bedroom." And just so she wouldn't purposefully stay there longer thinking his threat as a reward, he added, "And you won't be _satisfied_ until the end of the last one, my love."

He took great delight in seeing her take a shivery, wobbly step before disappearing around the bend in the road.

He didn't see her for another three days.

~0~

Tawny was grateful for the five minute walk to the gate. It allowed her time to fix her mussed hair, smooth her uniform of skirts, blouse, and apron (provided by Tweedle), and clear her mind of all the smutty images the pirate's parting words produced. The first two were accomplished easily enough. The last was a bit harder, as Killian was a downright epically wicked kisser.

All thoughts of her, the pirate, and dirty deeds fled her mind, however, when she laid eyes on her contact, who was – her hand to God – an actual walrus.

His massive form was stuffed into a too tight tuxedo. His bald head shone like a beacon in the sunlight, and his mustache was groomed into the walrus 'stache style – thick and bristly and completely hiding his upper lip. He was a well-dressed and well-groomed walrus, but for the life of her she could not figure how he moved his corpulent form so quickly towards her, nor how his absurd existence could convey such dignity as he did.

"Hello, Ms. McKinley?"

Bobbing a curtsy (because she wasn't entirely sure if she was supposed to shake his flipper or not, much less how), she greeted, "Hello, yes, sir, Gwen McKinley."

"Yes, I suppose, you are," he eyed her up and down with his huge milky eyes. His moustache twitched when he looked at her unfashionably short curly locks, but all he said was, "Tweedle's missive said you had an Outlands accent."

"Born and raised there," she lied, hastening to add, "But I'm a real hard worker and know my way around with a polishing rag and feather duster."

The Walrus made a noncommittal grunt and then waved his flipper to indicate she was to follow him to the castle. Thankfully, his en route interview did not include very many personal questions. He needed more staff to prepare for the arrival of all the Red nobles who were coming for the trial, or so Tweedle had assured her.

Tweedle had also cautioned her with the warning: _'Butler Walrus is a family friend, but a coward. He will turn you over to the Black Queen and her Clubs if he thinks so much as a brass button is threatened. So do not trust him for anything.'_

So she had to look for an opening on her own.

She was assigned to the East Wing guest rooms, where for the next several days she was to air out, dust, and change the sheets of over a dozen rooms. She was not told, per se, to stay out of the West Wing, just that it was the Queen's private rooms. So if she got caught there, she suspected that she would only get a scolding – as long as she wasn't caught with the bottle, that is.

It took her a day to figure out which servants and guards were the observant ones and which were the ones that she could slip past to get into the Queen's rooms. Her opportunity to do so came on the third morning, while Her Majesty was entertaining guests by hosting a White Hart Hunt. The frog footmen and other servants and guards were all busy skiving off to place bets on the hunt's results with the Fish Orderly, so it was quite easy for her to sneak off herself. She went to drop off old washroom towels and exchange them for new ones, but never returned. Instead, she slipped into the West Wing.

After shutting the ornately-carved walnut doors behind her, she took in her surroundings. The castle's décor had reminded her a lot of Regina's black-and-white austere home in both Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest – lots of glossy surfaces combined with thick dark drapes, tapestries, and rugs. But here…

There were mirrors _everywhere_. Great giant panels that stretched from floor to ceiling lined the walls, and intricately framed mirrors decorated the doors. Even the floors were reflective they were so polished.

It was the same in the sitting chamber. Although, 'sitting' was a bit of a stretch of a description, as the only seat in the room was the vanity-chair. Aside from the vanity and its accompanying chair, the only non-reflective surface was the mandolin that rested in the corner. She half-expected a clown to pop out from around the corner and shout 'Boo!' like at a carnival. _'Since when did Guinevere play the mandolin and not the harp? And how the hell did she find this room relaxing?'_

The genie bottle was not among the various perfume and ointment bottles on the vanity, so she continued on into the bedroom. She was vastly relieved to find only a few small round mirrors scattered throughout its rich furnishings, which included a luxurious looking bed, fireplace with two armchairs and accompanying side-tables, and a bejeweled cabinet.

The bottle wasn't on the mantle or the side-tables mixed in with vases or incense urns, so…

_'Curiouser and curiouser. I mean, really, Guinevere, the bejeweled closet? Since when did you hide your valuables in the obvious spot? It might as well have been labelled: Trophy Closet, Rob Me!'_

It was locked, but it only took Tawny twenty-three seconds to pick it.

When she opened it, she wished she hadn't.

When she opened it, she nearly lost the jam tarts she had nicked for breakfast from the kitchens.

When she opened it, she saw rows and rows of _heads._

~0~

"So have you heard? Gryphon spotted a White Hart in the Whispering Woods." Alice heard Lancelot declare to a Black Club.

She, Cyrus, and Will had each had a bite of the mini-me mushroom and shrunken to pocket size. The Camelot knight had indeed carried them through the gates and into the courtyard near the Tower via pocket, and while he was exchanging pleasantries with a squire, they were scampering down his leg so that they could climb up a waterspout. Thankfully, it was a sunny day.

The purpose of Lancelot's conversation was two-fold, aside from giving them cover. One, it was to give him a plausible story for why he was there, (there was a standing reward for anyone to spot the rare elusive creature), and two, the resulting hunt would clear out the Queen, her guests, and most of her Clubs, which would decrease theirs and Gwen's chances of getting caught.

It took them two hours to climb up the spout to the level that Anastasia was being held at, and then they had to wait for night to fall, so that they could sneak into her cell unnoticed.

As it was, Anastasia's hiss of surprise (or was it annoyance?) nearly alerted half the Tower's occupants to their presence.

"It damn well took you long enough, darlings," Anastasia greeted them with her usual 'sweetness.'

"Brace yourself, _darling_," Will retorted, warning ominously. "It's going to take bloody well longer."

"And why is that?"

Before Will could make a cutting and unhelpful remark, her Cyrus answered, "Tweedle discovered that the Black Queen has this place magically sealed. No prisoner can escape without her and her Clubs being alerted."

His explanation was met with silence. Their former enemy stared blankly at their miniaturized selves as they peered right back at her from their crack in the wall. Alice could not tell if Anastasia was discouraged at the news or trying to puzzle her way past these limitations.

If it was the former, she masked it by snidely asserting, "I don't know at which to be more amazed at – your trusting that imbecile's word or your being here for what can only be moral support."

At this Alice finally broke her silence, defending the manservant with a caustic comment of her own, "Tweedle has far more intelligence than you give him credit for. But then again, you were always good at underestimating others."

Will added, "And you're right, Ana. We are _not_ here for moral support."

The woman's blue eyes flashed at this, and then with a knowing and resigned sigh, she surmised, "Ah. The bottle."

"Not just the bottle." Cyrus admitted.

Narrowing her eyes, the Red Queen sharply posited, "Your grand prison break plan is to have me make _my_ Wishes so that we can get the bottle, escape the Tower, and flee the pursuing guards, isn't it?"

They all collectively winced, and Cyrus confessed, "Not quite."

"The plan is to have you make your Wishes so that our compatriot who is near the bottle can become my next master," Will revealed, still looking aggrieved that yet another ex-lover was to become his master. "And _her_ Wishes will do all the above."

"Darling, what in Caterpillar's hookah have you been smoking?" the woman hissed in disbelief, clearly unhappy with their plan (surprise, surprise). "There is no way that I am going to waste my Wishes so that someone else, some _other woman_ can become your master, just so you all can abscond with the bottle and leave me to rot here."

Will rolled his eyes, a reaction that Alice was sure their larger audience could not discern while there was such a size differential, and he added, "Oh please, your being my master is not in any way going to make me forgive or love you again, Ana."

"Do get over yourself, dear genie mine." Anastasia scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. "Being your master is what is keeping me alive. Just like Jafar and Alice, she can't kill me while I have three Wishes to make."

"Yes, and the only thing keeping her from doing what Jafar did, torturing you into Wishing, is her desire to appear a just and fair ruler," Will pointed out.

Trying to move the conversation in a more productive route, Alice interjected, "So she is going to try you, and once you are found guilty…no one will object to her methods. Besides, our friend is willing to give you whatever Wishes she doesn't use to get you out of here."

"How generous of her, this nameless friend of yours," she scoffed. "But let's just say I do believe that, I still do not see why it is necessary."

Cyrus, who had far more patience than any of them, explained, "From what I have been able to understand of this magical seal, you are able to make a Wish undetected as long as the end result stays within the cell, but if your Wish extends beyond the cell, for example, Wishing to not be here or for the bottle to be appear in your hand, the alarms will go off and none of us will get out of here."

"You've checked me into quite a corner," Anastasia accused. "Trust you or suffer excruciating pain and then die. Or trust you and still suffer all of that."

Alice thought it was pretty rich that this woman thought that _they _were the untrustworthy ones. Instead of pointing this out, however, she reasoned beseechingly, "Trust me. Trust me not to kill you. I didn't before. Trust me not to leave you to die."

Alice could see the memory of their encounter at the ravine flash before the woman's eyes. She herself could recall it in vivid detail.

_'Why didn't you kill me? You'd have had everything you wanted'_

_'Because I'm not like you.'_

_'No, I suppose you're not.'_

With a slight nod of resigned acceptance, Anastasia inquired, "Lovely. So when do we begin?"

Cyrus answered simply, "When we know our friend has the bottle."

~0~

Heads. Shelf after shelf of heads. Not mannequin heads with wigs atop. But real _human_ heads. Staring blankly at her, unseeing.

Redheads, blondes, brunettes, raven-haired, curly-haired, wavy-haired, and straight. Blue eyes, gray eyes, brown eyes, green eyes, and all the shades between. Skin tones ranging from ivory to golden to ebony. Exotic features, handsome features, regal features. Button noses, Roman noses, but only pretty noses.

Heads of all shapes, sizes, and shades, all attractive. All detached from their bodies, bodies of what must have been young beautiful women.

Tawny rubbed at her neck and throat in sympathy with one hand, while clutching at her roiling stomach with the other, and tried to take deep calming breathes through her nose.

If she breathed through her mouth, she would scream. Or puke. Whichever.

When she was finally able to tear her attention from the three to four dozen sets of eyes that gazed back at her, she saw that there was a shelf that contained trophies other than the cranial collection. There were a few jewelry boxes, a large leather-bound book, and behind that _the _bottle.

At least, she assumed it was the bottle. It was amphora shaped, gold with red Eastern-looking designs and script, just as it had been described to her.

From an inner pocket she pulled out the swan-origami note that Cyrus had charmed and a pen, unfolded it, wrote a quick message, refolded it, and sent it on its way to her compatriots, who had hopefully made it to the Tower.

And then she waited. With the creepy heads.

Not being an idle person and being a terribly nosey one, Tawny got over her revulsion as best she could and headed – er, _went _– back over to the elaborately decorated cabinet to examine its least gruesome contents – the boxes and the book.

The boxes were of assorted sizes. Some were wooden, some porcelain, some metallic. Some had only catches, while others had locks.

The book was as wide as her shoulders and just as long, and it was as thick as a volume 'M' of the Encyclopedia Britannica. Its cover was a soft fawn brown inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl. It was so old and worn that the title was not quite decipherable. It looked to read: '_Ora lu Co pen um'_

And since she was a terribly nosey person, she couldn't decide which called to her more – the locked mini treasure chests with mysterious wonders that were just begging to see the light of day, or…the monstrous book that looked to contain ancient secrets.

While she was having this internal debate, the decision was made for her. The book flipped open of its own accord. (It was at this point that she knew that she should have grabbed the bottle and waited by the window or the mirror room. She had seen enough movies to know that this was where the master plan went fubar. But of course she couldn't resist.)

The page, which it flipped open to, was entitled, in golden filigree, 'Dubledge Day'. It resembled illuminated manuscripts, and while the images were structured like the stained-glass depictions, they were in no way as orderly or regimented as those. In fact, chaotic was a more accurate description, for they _moved_, like computer-graphic animations. The ink swirled and reformed images as it shifted from scene to scene, and sometimes scenes or series of scenes rewrote themselves.

Once she got over the wonder of it all, she began to absorb the significance of the images, the significance of the book.

This was the _Oraculum Compendium_. The record book of Wonderland's past, present, and future – well, possible futures, if she correctly understand the import of its rewriting scenes.

Before she could figure out how she could guarantee that one specific future would happen, the book's pages began turning again on their own; except this time, they went backwards. And as it progressed from Avension Day to Crimsominal Day, she went from feeling dread to horror to righteous rage.

It all made sense, the trophy heads, the mirrors, the mandolin, the trial, the choker necklace. The Black Queen was not her sister. She was not Guinevere. She was not even a native of Wonderland.

_'The goddamn head-swapping-happy, murderous bitch! She had killed – She had murdered – Justice for all, 'Avenger of Wrongs', my arse. I'm gonna – '_

The _Oraculum Compendium_ flipped back again to Dubledge Day, showing her exactly how that day could indeed be a Day of Justice.

~0~

Will granted each of Ana's wishes: to be clean, to be healed of aches and pains, and to have a cup of clean fresh water. Each, of course, had been carefully worded with Cyrus's help so that no harm would come to Ana – such as never feeling pain or anything else ever again.

And as his once-upon-a-time love took a sip of her refreshing beverage from her tin cup, Will felt himself dissolve and expand into a swirling cloud of atoms.

Out the cell's tiny window he went. Over the courtyard, he flew and into the Queen's window. Into his bottle he returned. Not that he could see any of this. It was more that he sensed it.

When he did see his surroundings, he saw the jumbled mess of tasseled and beaded cushions, and he cursed. He had forgotten to relieve himself before he got trapped again in this toilet-less prison.

~0~

As Tawny scanned the animated illustrations, she wished she had explored the boxes instead, even if it had been Pandora's box of horrors; for upon seeing her future she felt as doomed as that ill-fated Scottish king of Shakespeare's.

A cloud of magical dust swept over her shoulder and entered the bottle, breaking Tawny from her reverie.

And alerting her to the echoing sounds of someone's footsteps in the hall outside of the Queen's chambers.

_'Shit!'_

She grabbed the bottle and rubbed it hastily.

Will swirled out and – coagulated? solidified? (What would one call this process?) _reformed_.

"Mistress mine, thy will is mine," Will declared almost as if by rote, and then more naturally, "Bloody hell! That is going to get old."

"I bet. Now, Will – "

"Before we get this show on the road," he interrupted, glancing about the room as he asked, "Is there a royal water closet or something that I can use?"

Hearing the footsteps pause in their progress through the hall, she hissed, "Back into the bottle, Will."

"Why? Make your Wish so we can get the hell out of here," he protested.

"Back. Into. The. Bottle." She ordered curtly, and then more pleadingly, "I'll explain later, I promise."

She wasn't sure what worked – her order to her genie, her abrupt tone, her desperation, or her begging – but it worked, because he went with a petulant, "Yes, mistress."

She would have avoided that precious waste of time if she could have. But she couldn't risk someone else rubbing the bottle and getting the Wishes. No one else had seen what she had.

Pulling out her pen and the second piece of charmed parchment that Cyrus had given her for emergencies such as this, she scribbled a quick note and sent it on its way. She then pulled out Killian's phone, unlocked it with the password that she had learned ages ago (_–rpsc11n_), and began recording the images that the book had shown her.

She didn't get all that she wanted because someone had just opened the mirrored sitting room door.

As quietly as she could, she shut the book, closed the cabinet, re-locked it, and stuffed Will's bottle and the phone in the waterproof section of her bag (courtesy of Tink back in Storybrooke).

And just as the bedroom door was opening, she was diving out the window and into the moat below.

~0~

Alice, Cyrus, and Anastasia were waiting on pins and needles for Gwen to make her Wish. Alice wanted this to be over and done with. They had been waiting for three days for Gwen to just get to the bottle, and now they had to wait for the grand magical rescue, not knowing what the magical consequence would be if their friend got the wording wrong.

And then her growing sense of dread was justified, as a second swan note flew into the cell and landed on the cell's floor.

Anastasia picked it up, read it aloud, croaking in fear, "Abort."

Alice was so caught up in her own horror – her friend's betrayal, her fear for Will, for Anastasia – that she did not see the woman's terror change to wrath or her lunge towards their tiny forms.

Cyrus thankfully did, and he yanked her back into the crack, saving her from the Red Queen's frantic grab.

And as they fled to the waterspout, Alice could hear the doomed woman's outraged pleas and curses. Pleas to not leave her. Curses for breaking their word to her and doing just that.

~0~

Killian didn't succumb to boredom until late evening of the second night. He had been too anxious – waiting for Tawny's signal, watching for any unusual activity of the patrolling guards or those on the towers. But a person could only stay on alert for so long.

He tapped in the passcode and went immediately to her photos.

There were pictures from the mermaid's wedding – her and her three lady friends, the lasses and their men, her and him, him and Henry, him and Dave, him and Conroy, her and Grace and Jefferson.

There were pictures of her with the wee Princess Xandy and a few of the girl and the former sheriff and a litter of puppies. There were pictures of tea parties and 'costume' parties with Grace, utilizing the various and assorted hats of Jefferson's mad-making.

There was a whole album dedicated to him. It included pictures of the two of them 'salsa dancing' at the Rabbit Hole, of them sparring at the gym, and of him and Henry doing various activities on the _Roger_.

He was honored to be included in her collection and amused that all of her friends had made a point to send her snapshots of him even before they were 'an item' as wolf-girl had put it.

The next album contained pictures of her and wolf-girl, Giselle, and Princess Ella. Usually they were posing in the hair stylist's assorted wigs, but there were some from what looked like a 'Halloween' party. His lass was dressed in a highly suggestive tavern wench ensemble.

He liked these so much that he went to the album that was dedicated just to that day, and that is when he saw _them_. His lass and Scarlet. The man was dressed in an imbecilic costume of a court jester, and he had his hands all over _his _lass.

There was an album labelled 'Will', and it contained photos of 'Gwen' and Will at the Rabbit Hole. Gwen in Will's lap, whispering things into his ear. Will with his arms wrapped around her, nose buried in her creamy neck. Will making absurd faces at the photographer. Will wearing the shirt that insulted the reader's parentage comparing it to some rodent and berry mating – the one he had seen Tawny where frequently (_'in fond memory of her ex-lover?'_).

It was one thing to know of the past relationship. It was quite another to have it flung in his face.

He saw red and was shaking in cold fury. It was all he could do not to crush her phone. The only thing preventing him was he did not want to render the rest of her pictures inaccessible.

It took all his considerable self-control to shove his raging jealous, possessive Hook-self down. His lass was _his _lass now, and when this rescue operation was over, the two of them would leave this cursed land behind and spend at least a week secluded together in the captain's quarters of the _Roger_.

Until all of Captain Killian 'Hook' Jones was satisfied.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **the next chapter is titled: _Queen Regent. _Brownie points to anyone who knows her true identity and double chocolate fudge brownie points for anyone who provides feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome ; )


	6. Queen Regent

**A/N: **Lauren thank you for your kind review. Double chocolate brownie points. And in prevention of 'Disney like Alice tears', here is another chapter ; ) Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 5:<span>**

**Queen Regent**

_The Tower_

_The evening after the hunt…_

After an hour or so of cursing Will, cursing Alice and her ex-genie, cursing herself for trusting them and wasting her wishes, cursing whoever it was that absconded with _her_ bottle and _her _genie, she finally ran out of energy and simply stared at the wall where the little backstabbing thorns-in-her-side disappeared into.

If a tear or two slid down her cheek, it was only because her cell was terribly musty and her mattress was one of straw. She was terribly allergic to straw.

She was so lost in her musings on what a gullible little fool she had been, that she did not hear her royal opponent approach.

"You don't happen to know who it was that stole your genie bottle from me, do you?"

Ana could only stare blankly back at the woman who had wasted breath to ask such an inane question. Of course, if she _had _known who the 'friend' was that did the actual thievery, she would have been tempted to tell in revenge for being abandoned. But she didn't want Will to end up in this woman's hands, so she kept her silence.

"No?" Her Royal Piousness let out a sigh, before taunting, "Aren't you the lucky li'l thing then?"

"How so?" She asked out of genuine curiosity, as she didn't feel very lucky right then.

"In order for me to kill you, I need you to make your Wishes," she explained pedantically. "But there is no point in doing that, until I have the bottle."

Ana tried not to start at this, for if her 'gracious' host didn't realize that she had already made her Wishes, then… _'How long will this reprieve last?'_

"And it's my death that you want?"

"Not ultimately," she replied with a casual shrug. "It's merely the stepping stone."

Not in the mood for games, she impatiently inquired, "Then what is it that you want?"

At this, the woman rose from the bench that her pawns had carried in for her, especially for this chat, and walked to the door. Over her shoulder, she stated:

"Something that cannot be Wished for, but only earned."

_'How bloody enigmatic. I hope I never sounded like that.'_

~0~

What she wanted?

The Red Queen's question haunted her, even as she left the Tower for the sanctity of her chambers.

It haunted her, because she knew exactly what she wanted, and it was so close to being within her grasp…

What Langwidere wanted was to rub her success in the faces of all those who had written her off as vain and unfit. But she couldn't, not _yet_ at least.

When she did though, she would make them eat their words, right before she added their heads to her collection.

~0~

_Land of Ev…_

The sweet, gorgeous, radiant as the morning dew youthful Queen of Oz along with her panel of other dignitaries rendered judgment on her, the Queen Regent of Ev.

"In light of the many complaints of neglect by your subjects and your actions towards our friend Dorothy, we deem thee, Langwidere, daughter of Prince Evander, unworthy and therefore ineligible to continue in the esteemed role of Regent," Ozma declared in her high silvery voice.

"You have been weighed," pronounced the rusty voice of the Tin Man, Emperor of Winkia.

"You have been measured," growled the gruff voice of the Lion, King of the Forest of Wild Beasts.

"And you have been found absolutely wanting," avowed the wheezy voice of the Scarecrow, Emperor of the Silver Islands.

"In all our sagacious wisdom, we recommend to the people of Ev, our good neighbors to the Northeast, that Evardo, eldest son of Evoldo, ascend to his rightful place as King of Ev, even though he be yet a minor," Ozma announced, much to Langwidere's relief.

Her cousin Evardo would be kind and not exile her as well as dethrone her. If his perfectionist mother had been made Queen Regent, Langwidere could kiss her home goodbye. The woman could not stand the sight of her late husband's niece – the 'abominable' illegally beheaded yet somehow still living Langwidere.

"But fear not. We have been informed, Your former-Regency," Ozma trilled, her pearly white teeth shined as she beamed beneficently, "That the Queen Mother of Ev has no desire to see you leave and has graciously permitted you to keep your rooms and your cabinet and its – _contents_."

_'Graciously? Huh, I bet she practically choked on those lies when she first told Her Beatific Magnificence.'_

Curtsying as deeply as she could, she lied through her own perfectly white teeth, "Thank you kindly for your mercy in your judgment, and for your compassion in sharing that most wondrous news."

_'The people of Ev were quite satisfied with my 'neglectful' rule, you twit, as I did not interfere with their lives, unlike your Majestic Meddlesome Misfits who believe their August Arses have the authority to instate rulers in countries not their own. It was the needy, nagging, nasty nobles who did not like to be ignored.'_

She of course did not voice this, for out of this whole debacle of her regency, she had learned one thing and that was when to hold her tongue if she wished to keep her heads.

~0~

_Land of Ev, a few years later…_

"White is such a becoming color on you, dear. Have I ever told you that?" her aunt complimented her in greeting.

Langwidere, who had been admiring herself in her aunt's newly acquired full length mirror, admitted softly, "No. But it is good to hear, since I usually where it only because I know it does not clash with any of my _crowns._"

She said this last part because she knew how much the woman abhorred any references to her 'grisly' collection. This did not get the usual rise out of her aunt, not even a shudder, only a brief pursing of the lips before she said cattily, "Yes, it does. And that dress makes you look quite fetching. Even my Evardo, whose heart and hand is pledged to darling Ozma, cannot keep his eyes off of you when you wear it."

Suppressing her own shudder, she replied coolly, "A high compliment indeed, as my _cousin_ has such an excellent eye for the aesthetically pleasing."

_'In other words… Back off, you perverted bitch. I have no plans to seduce my blood-kin for power.'_

Handing her a cup of tea that she had artfully poured, her dark-haired and misleadingly doe-eyed aunt finally got to the point of this meeting that she had called, "My dear girl, I have such good news for you. After much searching, I have found the vile man who caused your … _unfortunate_ condition."

Langwidere perked up at that. When she had been sixteen, she had gone out riding. Her horse had gotten spooked, she had lost control, and it had carried her pell-mell away from her protective guard. By the time the horse had slowed, she had been irrevocably lost, and that is all she remembers.

She was told that a degenerate reprobate had accosted her by clobbering her over the head; a fact he himself had related in his note that he had attached to the horse that had carried back her headless body. The note had also said that if they wished to attach her head back to the body, they were to pay a ransom, or else she would die, as his 'special' blade allowed for 'reversible beheadings' but only for so long.

Her uncle and guardian, the king, had refused to pay the ransom and had instead set up a trap at the exchange site, but the man had sensed it and fled. Her uncle's men had found the ruffian's lair and his collection of other pretty heads (probably from previous ransom schemes). To make up for his choice of not paying the ransom, King Evoldo had bequeathed this collection to her and then commissioned the talented Misters Smith and Tinker to design a way to reconnect them to her weakening body and save her life.

Langwidere had long since learned to adapt and even revel in her oddity, but the trauma of it all had caused her to be overly conscious of her appearance, hence the overabundance of mirrors in her boudoir, and to be rather anti-social, hence the charges of 'neglect' by her noble peers.

All of this is to say that she would dearly love to get her hands on the neck of the man who had wronged her so.

And her aunt knew it too.

"I discovered that he has fled to another realm," she shared, pausing to take a delicate sip of her tea, dragging out the grand reveal like the drama queen she was, "A place called Wonderland."

_Sip._

"Via _that_ mirror."

_Sip._

"Which only requires one to…"

_Sip._

"Step through it."

Needless to say, after a few days of preparation, Langwidere did just that.

~0~

_Wonderland, some time ago…_

"Why are you laughing?"

She had the man's 'special' blade at his throat, while he was bound and tied to a fence post, and yet…_he was laughing_.

"You just told me that you followed me through The Mirror, given to you by your aunt."

"So?"

"_So..._ I, the lowly head hunter, who gave you the gift of forever youth, am about to die at your hand, while the woman, the noble queen, who tricked you into coming here with no way to return, will continue to live."

"Tricked?" she asked in disbelief.

The first part she knew to be true. For whatever reason, the blade's alchemical properties that allowed its victims to continue living (when certain conditions were met) also allowed for the aging process to cease.

But the second part…

"The Mirror may be one way, but you got to Oz from here before, so it must be possible."

"Aye, anything is possible in Wonderland, and I'll tell you how it is, if, you know, you don't kill me…"

Langwidere contemplated sparing this man's life, so that she could go home. But go home to what? Isolation, loneliness, derision, and scorn? To confront her aunt for what purpose? She had no proof, and most would commend the woman for getting rid of the 'vain, conceited freak of a former regent'.

So…

She cut off his head.

Revenge is sweet, but very, very messy, if one does not have the upper arm strength for that kind of thing.

While she was tidying herself up, she examined the man's valuables. He was quite the pack rat – heads, blades, bows, books, to name a few. One book in particular caught her eye. It was old, large, and teaming with Importance.

As soon as she touched it, it flipped open to a page entitled: 'Avension Day'. On it was a map of this bizarre realm. There was Heart Country, Red Country, White Country, Underland, the Outlands, and the Fringes.

And then astonishingly, the pictures began to _move._ Black squares with numbers and letters, labelled in the legend as 'Army of Black Clubs', poured across the border into White Country.

The White Knights, who had been focused on the standoff between Heart and Red Country, did not see them coming. Quite vividly, the Black Clubs dispatched their foe. Red ink poured from the bodies of the fallen, darkening to black, which consumed the White Castle, changing it to 'Obsidian'.

The White King and Queen were executed, heads rolling into the waiting crowd of victors.

It was done at the order of a blond woman in a black dress…with a choker exactly like the one Smith and Tinker had fashioned for her and a regal crown upon her head.

Grabbing the book and the blade, she quickly left the man's cabin for her own rented lodging. There she could peruse this new wonder and discover how this 'Avension Day' could come to pass.

~0~

_Wonderland_

_Present day…_

It had shown her the path to Dubledge Day. It was the day in which she would be hailed the most just and fair queen of all Wonderland and not some backwater country like Ev, which was subservient to that vapid little self-righteous bitch of Oz.

And with the genie Wishes, she could return home and have her accomplishment broadcast all over Nonestica. 'Wanting' indeed.

But she couldn't do any of that if she didn't have the genie or his bottle.

She could use the _Oraculum_ to find it, but it was going to be such a tedious process.

She had discovered after extensive use of the book that the longer she wore a head, the more difficult it became to read the oracle or get it to show what she desired. Eventually, all it would show is the head's decapitation day. Thus, the necessity for more heads, even though she no longer switched them depending on her mood.

Opening her cabinet, she debated which head to use.

"Hmm…there's the fresh farm girl, a pretty brunette…She could offer a new perspective…Now, why haven't I used her yet?"

She looked at the young slightly freckled thing and recalled, "Oh yes, it looks like that gingham wearing bint."

Her eyes passed over several heads that she had used far too much to be of any use, before alighting upon a platinum blonde.

"Ah, the Abbess. She'll be perfect, like we've come full circle."

Using the ruby-red key that dangled from her wrist to unlock her choker, she detached the Widow and screwed on the Abbess.

Glancing in the mirror that was on the back of the cabinet door, she noted that in her black riding habit her beauty mark that was below her left eye was much more pronounced than when the Abbess had her head. Smoothing her skirt, she pronounced, "White may be becoming, but Black is certainly more slimming."

"Long live the Black Queen," the mirror chirped.

Opening the book, she saw the bottle returned to her cabinet on the Ides of Ianus; so with a triumphant grin, she declared, "Long live the Fairest Queen of Wonderland."


	7. Fireside Chats

**Chapter 6:**

**Fireside Chats**

The water was cold, thick, and murky. Tawny shuddered to think what was in it and prayed that there were no Wonderland versions of sea serpents or squid monsters to suck her under.

The moat wasn't a moat, per se. It was more like a tributary stream that had been redirected to circle around the castle and then had been reconnected to the mother river. She was swimming/floating-like-jetsam towards that junction. Killian was on the other side, hopefully waiting in his commandeered fishing boat.

As soon as she neared it, she took a deep breath and sunk below visual range of the checkpoint guards and swam for all she was worth for the net, which was, of course, there for people just like her.

But none of them had lovers, who had acquired on a previous adventure, a magical knife that can cut through anything. Using said knife, she cut herself a hole in the netting to slip through, and then she returned to her swimming/floating-like-jetsam thing, scanning for a boat with a white X and circle painted on its side.

Just when her muscles were beginning to go numb from the cold, she spotted the very crudely painted Jolly Roger on a dingy-like vessel twenty feet away. She swam for it, surfacing on the opposite side, out of view of the guardhouse.

Grabbing the side of the boat, she greeted the scruffy-looking, but still absurdly handsome 'fisherman' with a low, flirtatious, "Hello, sailor. Lookin' to have a good time?"

Killian's blue eyes brightened, either at her quip or at the sight of her drowned-rat self, and a slow smile spread across his face, as he rejoined, "Hello, siren. Only if you care to join me upon my vessel."

"I'll join you, but the 'upon your vessel' will have to wait," she replied with a tired smile, while extending her hand to him to be helped into the boat.

He hauled her in and then wrapped a blanket around her chilled and shivering form, asking, "Did you get it?"

"The bottle? Yes, but I didn't make the Wishes."

Killian did a double-take, asking incredulously, "You didn't?"

"No, your three days won't be happening any time soon."

As soon as she said that she wanted to cry. She was tired of playing avenging angel. She wished that she had more of her I-don't-give-a-damn-Gwen side in her than her crusading Tanwen, at least then she could just walk away.

"I shall collect with interest then," he replied suggestively, his voice husky with teasing promise, but then his smirk faded and he asked concernedly, "If you didn't make the Wishes, how are the others…?"

Tawny sighed, "I'm counting on their resourcefulness." She glanced away, trying to hide and stuff down all of her raging tumultuous emotions – guilt, anxiety, anger, grief. Once she felt centered, she made her next move.

"I need you to collect them instead of Lancelot."

Nearly faltering in his rowing, Killian asked, "Why?"

"Because I need to tell him that the Black Queen is not Guinevere, that Guinevere is dead."

"How –?"

"I'll explain when everyone is together," she replied, hoping that these would be one of those times that he was uncannily perceptive and understand her needs.

It wasn't.

Jaw-clenching, knuckles whitening on the oars, nostrils flaring, he stiffly inquired, "But you'll be explaining this to the knight? Alone?"

She shot him an annoyed look, also noticing that his irate concern was affecting his rowing – his strokes were still smooth, just less languid. She almost asked him what had crawled up his fine arse, but decided to answer his question instead.

"Because," she replied tersely, "would you want to be told in front of strangers and people who have strong disliking of you that the love of your life was killed? Or would you want a few minutes in private after that bombshell is dropped?"

After a moment of glowering, he grudgingly conceded, "Point taken, lass."

They rowed in silence until they could ditch the boat behind a conveniently thick copse of bushes and trees, and then they made their way to the hollowed out log where Lancelot was waiting.

Tawny had no idea how she was going to drop that bombshell. She spent that whole time trying to figure it out, and still came up with nothing by the time they were in hailing distance.

Killian called out, "There's been a change in plans, mate! The lass will explain while I get the others," and then with a good-luck squeeze to the shoulder, he left her to it, as requested.

Lancelot looked at her expectantly as she fumbled for words, prodding her with a deep rumbled, "Yes, milady?"

"Our fair queen is dead."

~0~

She told him everything.

She told him of the mirrored rooms, the mandolin, the cabinet of heads, of the book, and of her use of it, and she showed him the recording she made of that fateful 'Crimsominal' day.

The first scene showed a couple making camp on the side of the road that led from the Fringes to the Heartlands. The dark-haired man wore black armor. The blond woman wore an amber necklace.

The second scene had the woman with golden curls taking a private moment in some dark shrubbery, being snuck up on by a hooded figure. The next, tied to a tree and gagged, and then beheaded, which was followed by a brunette head being placed into a bag and the golden one being sealed onto its new home, sealed by the choker.

This was followed by Imposter Guinevere walking up to the Black Knight, kissing him and then stabbing him in the neck, and then finally chopping off his head.

The last scene was of the 'Black Widow' carrying the knight's head into the Exiles' midst and calling for vengeance.

It was a good thing she was holding on to the phone, or else the Leviathan would have crushed it in his ginormous hands. As it was, he had to take a momentary respite and attack a tree or two.

To give him some space, she went off and changed out of her wet clothes, rekindled the camp fire to dry them out and warm herself up, and deleted the blurry recordings of the _Oraculum_.

It was at this point that the others arrived, so she let Will out of his bottle.

"What the hell, Gwen?!" He blasted as soon as he solidified.

She hastily stood up to face the charging bull that was Will, but before she could formulate a response to his outraged query, he was on to his next one.

"Do you hate her so much for what she did to her stepsister all those years ago that you are going to leave her, _condemn_ her to be the next Marie Antoinette? Because I don't think Ash would thank you for it."

Normally, she would have gone toe-to-toe with him, poked him in the chest as she made each point, and made some several scathing retorts, as she did not take crap from anybody and that was their usual M.O. of foreplay. However, for several reasons – she was with Killian, they were talking about the non-rescue of his love, and she was just plain too exhausted for this shit – she did not do her 'normal' thing. She instead collapsed back down on her log and sighed tiredly.

It was a sign of submission, rolling over and exposing her vulnerable underbelly, as it were, and as a result, the fight went out of everyone, and they sat down around the fire as well.

When everyone was seated (except for Killian who leaned against a tree just milliseconds away from an _en garde_ stance), she finally began her defense, "No, I bloody well don't hate her. I don't want her to lose her head either. Look, I'm sorry that you had to leave her there. But I had my reasons."

"Which were?" Alice gently prodded.

And so she caught them up with what she told Lancelot. Towards the end of her explanation, the knight silently joined them, and to her amazement and pleasure, Killian offered him his flask. He accepted and took a sip, (much smaller than she would have had she been in his shoes), and then returned it.

At the end of Part One of her explanation, Alice inquired, "Who is this Langwidere woman?"

Drawing upon what she had read of Oz canon literature during her long recuperation, Tawny replied, "She is the deposed queen regent of a country called Ev." To Will, she added with significance, "It neighbors Oz."

He scowled and muttered something along the lines of 'Of course it does', before more clearly replying, "I'm sorry for your loss, for your sister. But that still does not explain why you didn't make your Wishes. Why you _still_ haven't made your Wishes."

"The _Oraculum_ showed you not just the past but the future as well, didn't it?" Cyrus sagely observed.

"Yes," she admitted with a grimace. "And I refuse to choose which path to follow all by myself."

To Will, she stated, "Behind Door #1 is the path in which I make my Wish, set Ana free, and the two of you leave Wonderland immediately. I do not know what happens to the two of you after that because the book is only concerned with Wonderland."

"I don't really care. Anywhere but here is sounds bloody good to me," he quipped.

Ignoring his comment, she continued, "However, the down side is this," and she passed Killian's phone over to the knave.

He accepted it with an impatient but quizzical expression and hit play. Alice and Cyrus looked over his shoulder in marveled amazement at the tiny moving picture that quickly morphed into horror as they began to comprehend the video's contents.

Tawny could picture it in all its grisly detail. The golden-haired woman in black with the distinctive choker and crown making a speech to a crowd of increasingly angry commoners depicted in drab brown ink. The faceless Black Clubs ominously closing the gates. The crowd demanding justice, demanding blood. The Queen giving it to them, ordering her Clubs to shove the crying, pleading nobles in red into the mob below, like a pirate throwing captives to frenzied sharks.

For Killian who had raised his eyebrows questioningly at her and Lancelot who had finally rejoined them, she explained, "On the Ides of Ianus, there will be a bloodbath. Langwidere will incite the commoners into a mob riot against the Red nobles, I suppose, for standing by and allowing the Red Queen to neglect them."

Killian's eyes gleamed with sudden understanding, but he kept silent.

Will passed the phone back to her and asked resignedly, "What's behind Door #2?"

Without taking her eyes off of him, she asserted boldly, "I make my Wish, Ana and you stay long enough for her to either learn of what _will_ happen or for it to come to pass, and she will either seek to stop it or to avenge it. The Red Queen seems to have grown quite the conscience since your return to Wonderland. But, the consequences of staying are that you both die in whatever attempts you make or while on the run."

"Frak," he cursed, and then rubbing his face, he disgruntledly asked, "Three? There's always three…And please, let it be the charmer."

She gave a little smile, hoping it looked reassuring but not really feeling it. "Option three does have the greatest chance for saving the damsel-in-distress, stopping a bloodbath, and avenging the death of my sister and Arthur."

Before she could explain how this could all be accomplished, Lancelot let out a bark of scoffing laughter, before bitingly accusing her, "You don't care for avenging Guinevere. In fact, not three days ago, you were eager to exact your own revenge upon her."

_'Why must everyone question my motives? Is it my face? Do I have an untrustworthy sort of face?'_ Resisting the urge to point out that her reasons were rather inconsequential in the grand scheme of things – _bloodbath? decapitation, anyone? _– she resigned herself to another round of self-justification.

Fixing the knight with a stony glare, she declared, "Three days ago, she was alive and she had already avenged Arthur's killers. Three days ago, I would have taken the simple satisfaction of simply foiling her plan of beheading a friend's former lover and another friend's estranged step-sister. More importantly, Guinevere was _my_ sister – granted my half-sister whom I have had little fondness for and much resentment towards – but I didn't want her _dead_."

They stared at each other for a few more minutes; Tawny attempting to communicate her sincerity, and Lancelot, his unhappiness. Finally, some of the tension left him, and his shoulders slumped just a smidge, as he accepted the veracity of her words.

The uneasy silence was broken by Alice's wary inquiry, "And how is 'option three' to be accomplished?" Alice asked warily.

"By letting the Black Queen think she wins, by letting her behead Anastasia."

~0~

Killian was extremely grateful for the fact that they had set there rendezvous point far from any semblance of civilization, for the clamorous uproar that resulted after Tawny's announcement would have certainly brought down all of the Queen's men upon their heads if they had not.

As it was, he was standing on alert, hand on sword, and vigilantly scanning the woods for any sort of attack, while the rest were voicing their protests.

The jealous Hook-part of him wanted rage along with the rest of them. It wanted to know if her grand plan of beheading the Red Queen was her way of getting rid of the competition for her ex-lover's heart.

But the more sensible Killian-part of him realized that she had said that this plan, which involved letting the beheading take place, would also allow them to rescue the Red Queen, this Ana. He was quite intrigued.

Eventually, they all quieted down and let Tawny say her piece.

"I didn't say 'let her die'. I said 'let her behead' her. I believe that in this land of impossibilities, there is such a thing as 'reversible beheadings', if the right blade is used?" She glanced at each of them with amused triumph, as her audience gazed at with slowly growing understanding.

His lass did so enjoy being clever, and she had developed a flair for the dramatic. He supposed that he should not begrudge her this moment. She probably had little chance for humor in the past three days and would probably have little in the next few weeks to come. But really, the more she dragged this out, the more he knew that he would not like this plan any more than he had of the others – and most likely, a lot less.

"The right blade? You mean, the Queen of Heart's blade, the one she used on Hatter?" Alice asked.

Tawny nodded, "Yes, that one. If we get it and replace the executioner with one of us, we can assure that Anastasia's decapitation is reversible. As long as she can play dead, we can fool everyone into thinking that they have received justice, and we can sneak off with her body and head and reattach them later."

"How will this stop the massacre?" the former genie inquired.

His lass tucked a frizzy strand of hair behind her ear, as she explained, "Well, it won't. In fact, the excited crowd will be just as malleable to her riot-inciting speech, as a justice-gypped one."

"But?" the Alice-lass queried with a hint of a smile, obviously cottoning on to his and Tawny's favorite rhetorical device.

"_But_, if the Black Queen's speech was to be interrupted, by say… a certain someone who looks _remarkably_ like her and claiming to _be_ her…" a slow waggish grin spread across her face, as she spelled out her plan, "Then the crowd will be too confused to be agitated into a mad mob."

"So let me sum up," Will declared. "You haven't made your Wishes because you do not want to arbitrarily decide on Door #3, which involves somehow finding and obtaining the reversible-beheading blade, so that we can replace the executioner and his blade to fake a permanent beheading, after which we abscond with Ana's head and body, while you pretend to be the real Black Queen to stop her from having the Red nobles be bludgeoned to death."

"Yes."

"And the revenge part of this quest is what, darling?" Killian finally broke his silent observation to interject.

She smirked, and then said, "The poetic justice of it all – her plans foiled and her lies exposed by her own pretty _stolen _face."

~0~

Later, after they had made and eaten dinner, discussed and debated how to implement this grand plan, and had prepared for bed, Tawny asked him quietly, "What do you think?"

He rolled over to face her. The fire, which had previously done such a marvelous job of showcasing her fierce expressions as she defended her decisions, was now so low that he could barely see her. He could just make out that she was lying on her side in her bedroll that was next to his own and nervously nibbling her lip, as she anxiously awaited his reply.

"I think that although I'm glad you are here, lying beside me, I wish we were sharing the same bedroll," he jocularly leered at her.

With the hand that was not propping her head up, she slugged him in the shoulder, but still snorted a giggle, "You know what I mean."

"I don't like the plan," he quietly admitted, ignoring the roll of her eyes. "It puts you at too much risk. Too much can go wrong."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with a "_Nevertheless_…I know that I cannot dissuade you from your quest."

She sagged in relief, before leaning over to give him a quick peck on the lips in gratitude.

He resisted the urge to deepen the kiss and let her roll back over to gaze contemplatively at the stars. But after a few minutes, he couldn't help but teasingly add, "Especially when this scheme of yours satisfies both your inner noble-crusader and – dare I say it? – your more recently acquired inner vengeful-pirate."

His Tawny-lass chuckled appreciatively but tiredly in reply, seeming to be too exhausted to make a sassy retort as was her wont. She did, however, reach over to squeeze his hand with her small one, as she drifted off to sleep.

Killian held on to her hand and counted how many days were left until the Red Queen's trial, trying to figure how many ways he could 'collect his interest' when this was all over, as he too gave into his exhaustion.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Next chapter - Opening Gambit


	8. Opening Gambit

**A/N: **

On a side note more related to part 1 of this tale, I have to confess that it is most satisfying to see my muse have 3 villains on the same axis of evil team as Kitsis' and Horowitz's, and even though K&H did a much better job portraying Cruella, Ursula, and Maleficent, it is well..._bangarang._

Anywho, darlings, here is another extra long chapter. Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 7:<span>**

**Opening Gambit**

_"Do you see here?" Tawny pointed at a magnified image of the Executioner's armor. She was pointing at a gold broach cross on his shoulder, one that was only in their desired version of 'Dubledge Day'._

_When they all nodded, she pointed at Lancelot and his armor. The gold cross was the same._

_"And here?" she asked, flipping back and forth between two zoomed in images of the Executioner's sword._

_"What about it? The sword looks the same to me." Will stated._

_"The inscription is different." Alice observed. "The first labels it 'Soul-splitter Nakardia', and the second, 'Soul-splitter Nakephal__é'."_

_"And this 'Nakephalé' is the executioner blade of choice in Heart and Red court? And we have to steal it from one of them?"_

_At Tawny's nod, Will cursed, "Bloody hell."_

~0~

_"It's not in either court anymore," Tweedle informed them, looking rather annoyed at their question._

_Over Will's belly-aching groan of frustration, Alice patiently asked, "Do you know where it is?"_

_"Yes," he admitted tersely. "My traitorous brother has developed an obsession with it, after Jafar used it on him, and I, his appointed keeper, have the unfortunate task of knowing what he knows."_

_"Yes, yes, it blows to be you, mate," Killian cut in. "But the real question is – Where is it now?"_

_Tweedle frowned in annoyance, but still answered, "The Monstrous Crow has it."_

_The Wonderlanders all shuddered._

_"The Red Bishop?" Will queried in aghast horror, before cursing again. "Shit. Stealing from him is tantamount to suicide."_

_"So we don't outright steal it," Tawny interjected. "We con it out of him."_

_Alice looked somewhat alarmed with her level of comfort with such unlawful behavior, but both Will and Killian gazed at her with admiration._

_"Does he have any weaknesses, vices that we can exploit?" Tawny asked._

_Without a moment's hesitation, the Queen's servant replied, "His brother. And his brother's is gambling."_

_"Huh." Tawny mused thoughtfully. "What's his poison? Horses? Dice? Cards?"_

_"I don't know. He frequents Underland. It's not my sort of crowd," Tweedle sniffed in distaste._

_"Underland?" Alice asked. Her slight smile spreading into a patented Cheshire grin at the manservant's nod. "How fortunate. For I know just the person to help us."_

~0~

_"Lizard, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Lizard," Will introduced his young friend._

_Alice rolled her eyes at the knave's boorishness and made proper introductions. Cyrus and Lancelot were perfect gentlemen. Killian was an …imperfect one._

_"Lizard? What a charming pet name, for a charming and, no doubt, resourceful lass," he teased, bowing over her hand and lightly kissing it, and then to Tawny, "Kitten, you should follow her example. A confident woman owns her admirers' endearments."_

_Ignoring his tomfoolery and the poor girl's blush, Tawny inquired, "So what can you tell us about the Monstrous Crow's brother?"_

_"He's a favorite guest at Caterpillar's poker table. When he wins, he wins big, but when he loses, he loses more and more often," the dark-haired girl replied. "He currently owes the Caterpillar an unseemly amount, and is on a payment plan."_

_"Since when does the Caterpillar do payment plans?" Will inquired in disbelief._

_Lizard shrugged, "Since his brother is the Monstrous Crow? And the man receives an allowance from the Bishop like clockwork?"_

_Tapping her chin thoughtfully, Tawny asked, "What would happen if he lost an obscene amount of money? Like several advance allowances' worth?"_

~0~

The answer to that question is what led to 'The Plan: Step 1' and the present argument.

The goal of this phase of the plan was to get invited to the Caterpillar's table, and not only win the pot but also provoke Crow's brother into betting beyond his budget. This would force him to being open to the idea of selling _Nakephal__é_, so that he could pay his debt to Caterpillar without dipping into the family's cash coffers.

The current argument was who was going to be the card shark.

"That's actually not a bad plan," Lizard complimented. "But who of you is good enough to pull it off?"

Everyone but Alice and Lancelot raised their hand.

Killian looked at her, his partner, the very same one who had never played a card game in front of him in all their time together, with an arched questioning eyebrow.

She ignored it, and stated smoothly, "Well, it can't be you, Cyrus, or you, William. Everyone knows your faces, and if the wrong person notices you there and later learns of the sword's sale, our plan to save Ana could easily be discovered."

"In that case, I want it to be you," Will declared.

She nodded in acceptance, but Killian's jaw-dropped and he blurted, "_Her?_ The lass?"

"Yeah, Gwen," he answered. "I know how good she is. I taught her, and she has mad skills. _You_, I don't know, and I'm not betting Ana's life on an unknown."

She smiled gratefully at her old friend for his praise of her skills, and he smiled warmly back at her. His eyes twinkled with mirth, as he was no doubt recalling all of the times they hustled people out of their money in the Rabbit Hole's back room in a 'friendly' game of poker that Fitz would set up for them. Their favorite mark before he got shipped off to jail had been Sydney Glass and their second, Dr. Whale.

Their moment was interrupted by Killian's continued protest. "That's all well and good, but as I'm the one with 300 years' worth of experience, I think I'm the surer bet."

"300 years?!" the Wonderlanders gasped in unison.

"He spent several centuries in Neverland, a realm where time stands still," she explained.

Alice, Cyrus, and Lizard silently absorbed this, and Will gave a nod of understanding, which he ruined by saying, "Okay, great résumé – centuries of experience against drunken pirates and wild children. I'm still not convinced."

Killian bristled at this, prompting Tawny to step in before it got too heated or they were all forced to hear what a real shithead the flying teeny-bopper was. (Not that it would be a bad thing to hear; it was just a little off topic). With hands held out in a pacifying gesture, she said, "Why don't we hedge our bets? Killian and I will both play at the smaller gaming tables until one of us gets invited to the big kids' table. How does that sound, hmmm?"

Everyone relaxed when the two men grudgingly nodded.

And so the great poker marathon commenced.

~0~

They didn't immediately go to Caterpillar's corner of Underland. Instead, they went to nearby equally shady but less notorious establishments for 'friendly' games of poker, and with Rabbit's gossipy intel they each picked a table with a known connection to Caterpillar.

Killian played against Haigha, Dormouse, and an old White Knight. From what she could see from any of the times she snuck a peek while at the bar, they were all off their rockers. They frequently went into mad hysterical fits of laughter, to which Killian would weakly smirk at before chugging down his beer, downing a shot, or taking a long pull from his flask. Later, he told her that their collective insanity made it both easier to take their money and harder as they were all unpredictable.

Meanwhile, she played against Dodgson the Dodo, Reverend Robinson, Eddie Eagle, and Lorina Lory. None of them were exceptional players. In fact, she had to lose more hands on purpose than she normally would have just so she wouldn't clear them out too soon, as their attention was more focused on their gossip about the local mayoral election than the game – that, and their less than subtle attempts to figure out what gender she was.

Her ploy of being ambiguously androgynous had worked perfectly; a fact, which she couldn't help but gloat about as soon as she rejoined their merry band.

"I'll have you know that this outfit – the very same that you had little faith in – piqued and held the interest of my marks, just as I predicted," she gloated, twirling around as she crowed gleefully.

Said outfit consisted of masculine work boots, loose khaki slacks, long-sleeved worn white shirt, and a loose-fitting black vest. Underneath, she had bound her breasts in a wrap to give herself a more flat-chested look, and to accessorize, she wore a black felt homburg-style hat (acquired from Jefferson's collection) with her short locks messily peeking out. Combined with her feminine features it was difficult to tell if she was a farm-boy or farm-girl who left the Outlands for the more 'civilized' and 'exciting' Heartlands.

"The outfit wasn't intended to 'pique interest' but to keep you from being recognized as 'Gwen McKinley – the maid who stole from the Black Queen', or so I thought," Killian pointedly declared.

She shrugged and grinned half-heartedly, "Why can't it be both?"

He rolled his eyes, no doubt impatient with her 'reckless antics', before saying smugly, "Well, while you were playing mystery-gender, I managed to get invited to a game over at Caterpillar's pub."

"Oh? How so?" Alice asked curiously. She was still slightly confused on how winning people's money made friends.

"The old knight was so impressed with my skills and luck, that he wishes to see me avenge him against his nemesis, the Red Knight," he explained with a smirk, "Tomorrow."

"Hmm, well, it appears Dodgson is as dodgy as your Smee or Larue, for he has invited me to a game with people more at my 'skill level'," she mused with faux thoughtfulness. "So I guess, I'll be seeing you there tomorrow as well."

He glared at her, and she glared back. One would need to cut the tension between them with a diamond cutter; it was that dense.

It was rather unfair of her to be mad at him. He was just concerned that she was drawing too much attention to herself, and she would get hurt. After all, she usually preferred being the 'behind-the-scenes' girl. However, she was feeling peevish and miffed at him for his doubting of her abilities – at poker and at being able to take care of herself.

She normally would have laughed at the first, but because of the last, it felt more like adding insult to injury. She normally would have called him out on questioning her self-sufficiency, if (a) she wasn't doubting herself and her grand master plan, and (b) she was trying to keep him from seeing her doubt and fear.

If he noticed, he would try to find another route. If he did that, then – well, it was unthinkable. She would do anything to keep _that_ from happening.

So she played this game of petty one-upmanship and let the distance grow between them. And prayed he would forgive her in the end.

~0~

Killian knew he was being an ass. He knew it, but he couldn't help himself.

He knew that normally he would have gotten a kick out of his chit and minx of a woman being a card sharp. Normally, it would have gotten him _agitated_ in a good way. Normally, he would have laughed at her she-he disguise, because to him she was _all lass_. Normally…

But this wasn't normally. This was Wonderland. And in Wonderland, animals talked, cards were life-sized and armed, a walrus-sized larva was the king of the criminal world, and a queen collected and wore the heads of those that crossed her. And his Tawny, his move in the shadows Dark Angel Tawny, wanted to draw attention of both criminal king and head-happy queen to herself.

So every night he had nightmares of holding her lifeless body while her head was mounted on a wall like a hunting trophy or was mounted on a gate or was in a treasure chest or was being used as a croquet ball. Whatever it was, her once warm and fiery eyes were staring at him cold and empty.

And then to add salt to the wound, there was Willy-boy Scarlet.

Will, the belligerent and truculent, who had been nothing but a Jackass-of-all-Knaves to Tawny since they got here, had decided to warm up to _his _lass. Ever since Tawny volunteered to be the sacrificial lamb in – not one, but two – lions' dens, he went all 'Hey, we're best mates!', and the two of them have chummily gone down memory lane at the drop of a hat.

_"Hey, do you remember when we replaced all of Whale's porn vids with live-birth videos?"_

_"Hey, do you remember when we did that thing, you know, to Drusilla for making Ash cry?"_

_"Hey, do you remember when…?"_

By the stars, it was nauseating. And each time they laughed after one of these tales, their gazes held longer and were filled with increasing fondness, and their bodies moved incrementally closer, while he and Tawny moved farther away.

To sum up, he was an ass, for understandable reasons, but an ass no less, and a very distracted one, which he could not afford – not if he wanted to be seen as worthy of the elite table.

However, in order to do that, he needed to show up the Red Knight, which was becoming increasingly hard to do with Haigha the March Hare being an unpredictable loony that plays as a high-as-a-kite doxy one moment and then as a shrewd miserly merchant at another. It threw his game off.

Well that, and seeing his lass's steadily growing pile of chips as she methodically cleaned out the Gryphon, Lion, and Unicorn, who were her opponents. He couldn't tell what she was doing exactly, but from what he had seen she was using the Lion's and the Unicorn's animosity for each other as well as the Gryphon's disgust with the two to her advantage. A trick, no doubt, that her good mate, Will, taught her.

At this thought, he turned all his energy and focus into his own game.

He did, eventually, win. Not that it mattered, though, as the next night when they returned, it was Tawny who was asked to the Underland King's table.

Upon seeing this, he did only what he could and turned to the barkeep and barked, "Rum, and keep it coming."

~0~

As soon as she entered the den of shady dealings, she was ushered by Caterpillar's version of a Tweedle (if one wanted to use the Wonderland terminology) to the V.I.P. arena.

"I shall escort you to The Table now," was his no-nonsense greeting.

With a small shrug, she followed him through the tables filled with drunken and/or high patrons, and almost all desperate and gambling, to the roped-off table that was elevated on a dais. She was careful to make her walk more loose and ambling, more swag than sway, to further discombobulate her watchers. And there were watchers, she could feel their eyes, and most did little to disguise their stares over the brims of their mugs of ale.

When she reached _'The Table'_, her guide briskly stated, "Ladies and gentleman, to the delight of our host, may I present Kit Darling, Outlander, as the guest of honor?"

_'A.k.a. Sharkbait, hoo-ha-ha?'_ She couldn't help but think to herself as the seated predators sized her up.

"Kit Darling, this is Jackdaw Rook, Mrs. Flock, Sir Clancy, and Jasper Ten of the Spades," he continued the introductions. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Killian's eyebrow arch at her alias' moniker, just before he accepted a glass filled with his favorite poison. She hoped the surly bastard appreciated her homage to his pet endearments for her.

"Hello, sirs," 'Kit' greeted with a nod, and with a tip of her hat, she added with a drawled, "Ma'am."

Mrs. Flock blinked her glassy-eyed sheep stare at her in greeting. The woman was an actual bipedal sheep with woolen knitted shawl draped over her shoulders, spectacles riding halfway down her nose, and human fingers. That last part nearly threw her. And a small part of her wanted to cackle 'the better to hold the cards with, my dear'.

She didn't, of course, but simply wished there was enough humanity in Mrs. Flock to have readable tells.

Jasper Ten of the Farmer's Guild (a.k.a. 'the Spades') raised his glass of brandy in silent greeting. He was a short, squat, scruffy-faced, and curly-haired well-to-do farmer. Tawny noted that he had working man's callouses, but nicer clothes that were worn comfortably, and that he was developing a bit of a paunch. From previous nights of observation, she had seen that when not drinking, he was smoking a nasty-smelling cigar.

"_Sir_ Kit Darling?" the Red Knight, Sir Clancy inquired.

"Just Kit," she replied as she strode over to the empty seat that Caterpillar's man indicated was for her.

Sir Clancy frowned, either in annoyance that 'Kit' did not have a title or that without one, he could not figure Kit's gender identity. Tawny predicted that she was going to have a lot of fun with this, for the knight reminded her of Galahad, an older version at least. He was tall, balding, and middle-aged, but was still a wiry and well-muscled knight, with a craggy scarred face and a crooked nose and who wore a red tunic over rusty looking mail. The resemblance was strongest however in that he looked like the sort that was faithful and puzzled until the end.

And last, but not least, was Jackdaw Rook.

He was a small man, with a tailored sleek black suit, and had beady eyes, and his oh-so-welcoming statement to her was "Buy-in is 500 ingots, 'Just Kit'."

In response, she tossed two bags of winnings on the table. One was hers, and the other's was the one she had lifted from Killian, as she passed him in the street, just to see if she could. The fact that she had been successful worried her, as it meant he was not on his A-game.

Jackdaw grunted, as he eyed the bags' bulge. When he seemed to be satisfied, she exchanged them for chips and accepted the hand that was dealt to her by Mrs. Flock.

~0~

After the first hand, she caught on to why it was her that was invited and not Killian – her pirate was good _and_ a threat, while she was good and a curiosity, and to some, one that needed to be put in her (or his) place.

Mrs. Flock sniffed a lot in schoolmarm-ish disapproval after every action or comment that Tawny made, and Clancy and Rook made a few snide remarks about her being from the rural backwoods, comments like: "Eh, so I guess you're here in the hopes of making it big like Jasper here, huh? Perhaps, your fellow farmer can give you the name of his tailor for his fancy duds…Or do you need a seamstress?"

And when she didn't win the hand (her pair of 8's, high card Ace was beaten by Clancy's Queen high flush of Diamonds, Rook's wheel straight, and Mrs. Flock's two pair of 5's and 3's), Rook was quick to note: "Well, I guess, you better hold off on getting that fashion advice, Outlander."

She ignored them both and just smiled. After growing up on the receiving end of the Shrew's and Guinevere's abuse and spending 28 years as a target for Regina's snark, they had nothing. Their comments were like the buzzing of gnats.

Instead, she continued to analyze her opponents and form a strategy.

By the third hand, she discovered their styles of play and their tells, and had a plan in the making.

Her style of playing for that night was to play it cool, collected, and condescending, and to never let her tells be discovered.

She had been controlling her body's reactions and near involuntary responses as long as she could remember. Her mother had first taught her to show no fear. When people would whisper nasty things about her, "adulterous" being the most mild, as the two of them worked their way through the marketplace, her mother would say to her, "Show no fear, no pain, and you rob them of their power over you."

It was a mantra and a skill that helped her survive under the Shrew's reign. Being calm, cool, and mildly pleasant helped her survive in the backbiting realm of Court, especially when she was being the Pretender. It helped her survive on the run. When the predators came sniffing, they would grow bored after a while of no-reaction, and would move on to easier and more entertaining prey, (minus, of course, the occasional predator like the bear-trappers who needed to see a flash of fang or claw to let them know she was more trouble than she was worth).

She had never been a smart mouth, not really, at least not until Storybrooke, where the Curse made her a harder but less inhibited person.

Anyways, under Will's tutelage, she had learned the trick about tells – that they are the body's manifestation of one's inner-conflict about lying. Suspend the conviction that lies are bad, and one can be as unreadable as the Sphinx.

Not all of her style of poker was about controlling her own responses, but it also involved observing others. Her father had trained her in the art when she was young and before he had gone and gotten himself killed. He had known about the cruelties of the Court and the world, and he had wanted her to be as prepared for it as possible.

His lessons were certainly coming in handy tonight.

Mrs. Flock was harder to read than most, but she did have enough humanity to have a few giveaways. Like most humans who have spectacles, she fiddled with them. In her case she wrinkled her nose when she was unsure or frustrated, and then had to adjust them. However, being the aggressive skilled player that she was, she knew this about herself and when she was trying to draw out a bet and pretending she had a poor hand, she would purposefully adjust her glasses. Conversely, when she had an exceptional hand, she snuffled before going completely still, as if to reign in any betraying excitement. And her disapproving sniffing became more irritable when things weren't going her way.

Sir Clancy was an interesting case. If you looked directly at him, he didn't give off any signals. It was almost like he was P.O.W. resisting interrogation. But if one kept tabs on him out of the periphery of their vision, one could see his body react like a soldier readying for battle if he thought he had a winning hand or the chance to bluff them all out, or like a soldier resigning himself to inevitable loss. His tells were all in the shoulder muscles.

Jackdaw Rook was a piece of work. She was ever so thankful that he was her mark, because otherwise she might have been tempted to abandon the plan altogether just to destroy him. Of the group, he was the talker. Clancy talked as well, but his consisted of the usual ribbing and chit chat that one would expect at a highly competitive game of strangers. Rook's, however, was obnoxious and harassing.

It was easy to tell when he had a good hand and when he had a lousy one though. When it was good, he was scathingly patronizing and goading. When it was bad, he was churlish and less subtle in his attacks. It was actually harder to read him, when he had a middle of the road hand. But just like Liz said, the more hands he lost, the more wild and risk-taking he became, and it was just so easy to push him over the edge, especially since he was so hell bent on putting 'Kit' in his/her place.

The best player there however was Jasper Ten. He was a sneaky misanthropic son of a bitch. He kept his cards close to his chest, and his expression bored and put-upon, while he drank from his glass of brandy and puffed away on his cigar. He too was scathing, but he didn't single her out to be the sole recipient of his tongue.

Tawny would have been in serious trouble if the man hadn't had such rotten luck that night. Halfway through the evening he seemed to come to the same conclusion, but instead of calling it a night and throwing in the towel, he stuck it out. Towards the end, she even began to suspect that he tried to help her give Rook a bad night. She also caught him smirking at a few of the vulgar sounding hands, such as her "Queens full of Jacks" full house and his two pair of 6' and 9's. At one point, she nearly snorted her ale when he revealed his hand (J-K-A-5-5), caught her eye, nodded at Jackdaw, and then winked at her.

She also found herself looking around for Killian. More than anything, she wanted to see his reaction to Jasper's sly antics. Will would have appreciated the man's perverseness as well. But it was Killian that she wanted to share this with.

Tawny had enjoyed the last few days with Will, getting their old camaraderie back. She just wished that it hadn't already added to the growing distance between her and her mate.

The fact that it did confused her. She had expected her pirate to have been demanding stories from Will about her 'naughty Gwen' days (his preferred term), which is what he had been doing with Ruby and Giselle those last few weeks. But he hadn't.

And she couldn't find him through the cloud of smoke, which made her edgy, which made her break character, which nearly jeopardized it all.

After Rook lost quite spectacularly to her yet again, she leaned across the table to collect her pile of chips, goading, "Cards must not be your medium of fortune tonight. Perhaps, if you try roulette, Lady Luck will blow on your dice."

Mrs. Flock let out a shocked bleat of surprise.

Sir Clancy guffawed at the sexual innuendo and insult.

Jasper Ten of Spades, caught mid-sip of brandy, sputtered at her moxie.

And Jackdaw Rook turned a mottle shade of red before he lost his cool and bit out nastily, "Lady Luck's favor is not my problem. _You're_ my problem. You're a no good, dirty rotten, scoundrel of a cheat, he-she."

The whole room went still at his very loud and irate accusation. Tawny knew they awaited her reaction. Was she going to bluster a protest? Demand satisfaction for the slight to her honor? Or was she going to take the accusation lying down with the 'moral high road'? Was she cheating? It would explain how a nobody Outlander could be taking the Greats to the cleaners.

She reigned in her condescending attitude, just letting a hint of disdain slip past her cool façade, and replied with placid evenness, "I am not a cheat nor a card counter. I play the odds, read my opponents, and seek the favor of Fortuna."

And then she slowly rolled up her sleeves, never taking her eyes off of her accuser, to show that there was no hidden Ace or the like.

And then she slowly scooted her chair back, stood up, and spun around to show what, she wasn't sure. But when her eyes finally spotted Killian, who had just been on the edge of her peripheral vision all along, she pointed to him 'at random' and called out loudly, "You there! Yeah, you with the earring! Come and play 'Inspector' and see if I have any handily hidden cards or whatnot!"

Killian smirked and over jeers, catcalls, and shouts that he would forfeit his bet on Kit's he/she status, he readily obliged. Setting down his mug, he hopped over the rope, and frisked her, taking his time for the entertainment of all.

When he got to her nether regions, he stopped and his eyebrows drew up in surprise.

She smirked and stared back at him challengingly – the only way she could convey her permission while they had such an audience.

_Rap. Rap. Rap. _He tapped his right hand's knuckles against her hastily fashioned athletic cup for all to hear.

There were grunts of disapproval let out all around the room. For some, this proved Kit was a 'he'. For others, this proved nothing.

Killian finished his task and declared her free of "trickster's tools" and returned to his mug.

She sat down, careful to keep her hands above board, and asserted, "See? No tools."

Jackdaw opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off, continuing, "I suppose, Mr. Rook, that a gentrified person in my position would take insult and demand satisfaction – in a duel or some such – but like you've been pointin' out all evenin', I ain't nothing but a backwards Outlander. So I'm gonna handle this here situation in my own backwards way. I'm gonna offer to play another hand, with a new deck, dealt by Sir Clancy as he is next in the rotation, and – " she paused to dramatically wave at her large pile of chips, "I'm gonna challenge you to double or nothing."

Into the astonished silence, for her gesture seemed to indicate that she was extremely confident that in the next hand that Kit, not Rook, would double her pile in the next hand, she added, "I will forfeit my earnings and stake if my hands at any time do not remain above the table."

Mrs. Flock's mouth hung open and shock – not a bleat, snuffle, or sniff to be heard. Sir Clancy looked miffed that he wasn't considered a tender in the challenge, while Jasper let out a low whistle of either appreciation or pity.

Rook scowled before grunting, "Done."

Sir Clancy shuffled the cards. Jasper cut the deck. Sir Clancy dealt five cards each face down. They each picked up their cards.

Ace. Five. Three. Four. Nine. Four Hearts and a Club.

They all tossed in their 25-ingot ante.

Mrs. Flock adjusted her glasses, minus the nose twitching. '_So decent hand.'_

Sir Clancy's shoulders squared. His right hand dipped, like a man unconsciously wishing to reach his weapon. '_Also, decent hand.'_

Jasper puffed on his cigar as he shrewdly eyed them all. '_Not too bored, so decent enough hand. Crap.'_

And…

Rook's lip curled into a gleeful sneer. _'Double crap.'_

But instead of making a contemptuous remark, he opened the betting with "One hundred ingots."

Mrs. Flock: "Call." _'Not raising, but confidently betting. Must be trying to draw out the bet again, good lord.'_

Kit: "Raise by 50 ingots." A raise but nowhere near all-in like her dare had implied. '_Decipher that mixed signal_.'

Jasper: "Raise to 200 ingots."

Sir Clancy: "Call."

Rook discarded only one card with a smirk.

Clancy retrieved the deck, dealt a burn card, and then dealt to Rook his one card.

Mrs. Flock discarded two and sniffed.

Kit discarded one card, casually sipped her ale, and accepted her new card without looking at it.

Jasper traded in two cards and puffed on his cigar.

Clancy traded in two cards. His shoulders settling back into their previous position.

Jackdaw opened the second round of bets with a snide, "Well, Outlander, you're gonna regret your backwards challenge. All in."

Mrs. Flock sniffed her most disapproving, after he got done pushing his piles of chips towards the pot, and folded.

Kit finally looked at her card and shrugged in the universal 'Why not?' gesture, and pushed her substantial pile to the center as well, saying a simple, "Call."

Jasper eyed the two of them, possibly debating if his hand was better than theirs or possibly debating whether he wanted to continue to help her against Rook and how to best go about that. Whatever it was, he decided to push in his pile of chips as well.

The Red Knight did the same.

Kit's overage was put into the side-pot. If she lost, she would owe Jackdaw twice her stake in the main pot and all of the side pot – money, which she did not have. If he lost, he would owe her twice his stake in the main pot – money, which he also owed Caterpillar. If they both lost to either Clancy or Jasper, she still won because he would be unable to pay Caterpillar, and thus would be open to selling his brother's Soul-splitting sword. He should have left after the last hand.

Rook threw down his cards and crowed, "Quad of Kings, clodhopper!"

Clancy's shoulders slumped, and he didn't even bother waiting for his turn to reveal his hand, but just tossed his cards to the table, displaying a royal straight (Ace-King-Queen-Jack-Ten of mixed suits). It was a good hand, but not good enough to beat four of a kind.

Jasper Ten rolled his eyes and irritably revealed his Tens full of Sixes. When he looked at her though, she thought she detected a faint glimmer of hope.

She revealed her original four cards first: Ace of Hearts, 3 of Hearts, 4 of Hearts, 5 of Hearts.

She dramatically held off on revealing the final card, savoring the moment, letting everyone wonder if it would be a disaster of nothing (not likely or she would have folded), if it was a simple straight, or if it was the straight flush…

She flipped the final card, and triumphantly but quietly declared, "Steel Wheel of Hearts to your four kings, _Heart_-lander."

Jackdaw Rook blanched, before beating a hasty exit.

Jasper Ten's smirk reached Cheshire-grin proportions, as he wondered aloud, "Does he think that he can out run, Caterpillar's Collectors?"

From somewhere behind her, she heard someone mutter, "The real question is: 'Does he think his brother will let him continue to hide behind his bishop's robes?'"

Kit Darling didn't care. Kit Darling collected her chips and her congratulations and bought a round of Caterpillar's finest with her cashed in winnings.

Kit Darling then pulled a disappearing act before she could get robbed by Underland's ruffians.

~0~

Tawny reappeared in the camp sans hat and vest and with a peasant skirt replacing the trousers.

Will, who had been pacing, was the first to see her. As soon as they made eye contact, she broke out into an enormous grin, saying, "I owned him."

Before she could finish her sentence, he was striding towards her, lifting her up, and swinging her around, exclaiming, "That's my girl! You bloody brilliant woman!"

She laughed and slapped at him, instructing, "Put me down before you drop me, oaf!"

"Drop you? Never! I'll hug you forever," he exclaimed, as he proceeded to pull her to him in a bear-hug of an embrace.

Knowing that he would try to do just that if she protested, she did the exact opposite and wrapped her legs around his waist and tried to squeeze the life out of him in return.

It was, of course, at this moment, that Killian joined them.

From the edge of the campsite, he drolly declared, "If I had known that you were such a shark, I would have insisted on you being the one sweating away in Storybrooke's smoky backrooms. You could have raked in those malcontents' dough and saved me my coin, time, and lungs, _my love_."

Upon hearing his sardonic statement, Will eased up on his hold on her, and she dropped her legs to turn and face him.

Despite his scowl of annoyance, Tawny could not yet wipe the smile (smirk?) of victory from her face, as she replied, "But that would have defeated the purpose of my being the woman behind the curtain."

Waving his wooden hand in the air as if he still wore his hook, he asked, "And that was what again?"

Losing patience and becoming increasingly annoyed at his determination to kill her buzz, she retorted, "The best nemesis is the one you don't know. Not one in your face winning all your money. A luxury we don't have here unfortunately."

And with her head cocked to side and her eyebrow arched, she pointedly inquired, "And isn't there somewhere you have to be? Like hooking Rook?"

He gave her one long searching and reproachful look before bowing slightly, "As you wish."


	9. The Middle Game

**Chapter 8:**

**The Middle Game**

_The Futterwack Inn_

Jackdaw Rook had high-tailed it out of Underland after the game. Without paying Caterpillar.

Normally, this was not a cause for concern. Normally, Jackdaw would have been enjoying the inn's long-legged maids performing the establishment's namesake dance and would have rested peacefully in his usual extra-large room with its amenities fit for the former Red King. But the past twenty-four hours hadn't been normal.

Now, he feared for when the Caterpillar sent his Collectors after him.

And the over-sized larva would, as soon as he learned that Jackdaw's illustrious brother would not be forwarding his allowance.

Normally, his brother would. The Red Bishop could not have it said that their great family was in debt to this realm's riff raff, oh no. Normally, his brother would not mind spotting him when Luck abandoned him, but this time, Jackdaw knew his brother would not be able to overlook the fact that he had lost to a no account _Outlander. _The shame of the Great Bishop's, the Monstrous Crow's little brother losing to someone so beneath them in couth and cunning would not be born.

And so he, Jackdaw, would have to deal with Caterpillar and his Collectors on his own as a lesson – to either win no matter what or to know when to bow out and not make a spectacle of himself like he had last night. He wasn't sure which lesson his brother would have in mind, but he knew the Monstrous Crow would have one.

Thus, here he sat morosely nursing his mead and procrastinating the inevitable that he would have to face when he went home with his tail tucked between his legs.

"Ah! There you are, my good man! I have been looking everywhere for you," said a man as he plopped on the stool next to him.

Jackdaw's first reaction was to flinch, thinking that Caterpillar had already sent his henchmen after him, but then he actually got a good look at the new arrival and recognized him.

He was the man who had patted down that vile upstart.

"You!" he accused, his voice coming out as a low disgusted growl.

"Me," the man brazenly beamed, as he collected his mug that the bartender plopped down beside him.

"You were the man who supposedly checked for anything hidden up _its _sleeves."

"And there was none," this knave vowed, still looking irritatingly happy, as he blithely continued, "That Kit was just incredibly lucky."

"Bullshit. No one's that lucky," he grumbled. Even though he realized a few weeks back he himself had been just that lucky against the young baron buck of the Diamond family.

"Chin up, mate," the man persisted. "While I may not be able to restore your pride, I am in the fortunate position to get you out of your unfortunate one with the Caterpillar."

"And what do you know of any of it?" he spat, eyeing this stranger who despite his be-ringed fingers didn't look like he could afford to pay a tenth of Jackdaw's debt.

The man's smile fell from his lips (but not his absurdly blue eyes which continued to twinkle), as he answered with mysterious gravity, "I know enough. People talk, and I listen. And I know that you are just the man to help me."

"Oh? And what can I do for _you_?" he asked with exaggerated interest. The sooner this man made his offer, the sooner he would leave Jackdaw the hell alone.

"I have a nag for a wife. Not an actual nag, mind you; she's truly a fine filly of a woman, all woman and not bit horse-ish, but she is insufferably bossy – needling, poking, and prodding, and so forth," the man rambled. "It's enough to drive a man to drastic measures, just for a moment of silence."

Knowing exactly how this man felt (due to current circumstances and his own relationship with his dear brother), he prompted impatiently, "And what drastic measures do you presume that I can I help you with?"

"I want the Queen of Heart's execution sword."

Jackdaw nearly choked, and when he finally had enough air in his lungs, he managed to ask, "The one my brother, the Monstrous Crow, has?"

"Yes, that one. Not that I intend to _use_ it on my wife, just threaten her with it. For, you see, she was beheaded once before by the Queen of Hearts – may she never return – and she has a dreadful fear for the thing, and to hold it over her head – figuratively speaking of course – would shut that ever-jawing hole in her face."

Jackdaw didn't particularly care about the man's marital situation, but if this nagging fishwife could out-jabber this man, then it would explain his willingness to risk the wrath of the Crow. He himself was in such dire straits that if the man offered him enough, he would too.

So he named his price.

~0~

It took Killian less than a day to track down Tawny's latest victim. All he had to do was find out which of the watering holes on the way to the Bishop's fortified monastery was luxurious enough for a man who wore a fancy tailored suit, and sure enough the blaggard had been at the Futterwack Inn drinking his humiliation away.

Tawny had wanted to know how he was going to approach 'the mark', but he himself hadn't known until he saw the man and had assessed his mood.

Rook was drinking morosely by himself, and the invisible buffer around him was healthily respected by everyone else due to occasional snarls and his reputation.

Killian decided to 'brave it' by pretending to be clueless and oblivious, a role which also happened to dispel the instinctive response of the wary to his dangerous nature.

"…And the man fell for it, _hook_, line, and sinker, love."

Several groans were let out at this obvious pun, and while his lass rolled her amber eyes, the corners of her mouth twitched in suppressed mirth, before she said, "And so where and when will you be meeting him to make this exchange?"

"On the edge of the Whispering Woods, wherever that is."

"It's halfway between Futterwack Crossroads and the Monastery," Alice chimed in helpfully, if he knew where the latter landmark was.

"It's also good place for an ambush," Cyrus pointed out.

In the dim light of the moon, he could see his lass grimace before swallowing her pride to ask, "Well then, Sir Knight, would you be so kind as to accompany Killian and Will to the exchange?"

Lancelot nodded, but Scarlet held up his hands and protested, "Whoa! Whoa! Why am I going?"

"Because Killian and Lancelot do not know the area and need a local guide," Tawny explained as if to a child. Apparently, his lass was still channeling a bit of her Kit persona.

"Okay, rephrase: Why am I the _only_ one playing tour guide?" Scarlet retorted.

Before his lass could explain the method to her madness, the former genie added his two-cents, "Yes, why only one? There is safety in numbers, and if the Crow gets wind of his brother's intent…Well, a few more people watching the Captain's back would be smart."

"What _is_ so terrifying about this 'Monstrous Crow'?" the knight rumbled curiously. Killian couldn't help but think _'if you have to ask…'_

There was a collective shudder among the Wonderlanders, before Cyrus answered, "The Red Bishop is a powerful magician. One that can shape-shift into an actual above-average sized black crow."

"He is so powerful, that it is rumored that he was what was keeping the Queen of Hearts in check when she was facing off with the Red King," Scarlet added.

Killian let out a low appreciative whistle at that. Powerful and nasty indeed to even inspire a rumor that he was an equal to Cora.

"And according to Tweedle and Rabbit, now that Jafar is gone and Anastasia imprisoned, he is the one trying to fill the power vacuum and stabilize the Red Court," Alice explained.

"Again, why are not all of us going?" Willy-boy inquired impatiently.

Not in the mood to witness another round of 'Gwen'-and-Will, which he strongly suspected had been stage one of their version of foreplay, he answered for his lass, "Because if Tawny-lass goes and Rook gets wind of it, he will rightly suspect that he has been played and will at the very least not make the exchange."

"So I am staying here."

He held her gaze as he declared with a low growl, "But not alone."

"Not alone," she solemnly promised him, only breaking his gaze to add with a shrug, "And there is no sense in breaking up the recently united love-bird couple, so you three fine mighty strong men will just have to be enough."

Killian knew she was just stroking Scarlet's ego for the sole purpose of bolstering his confidence, but he deeply wished that she hadn't described her former lover with any of those adjectives. He supposed he should count his blessings that Willy-boy was not the one staying behind with his lass.

As soon as Scarlet acquiesced, they all began turning in for the night, as the three men had an early start if they were to make their meeting on time.

Tonight, he ignored his and his lass's emotional distance and held her close to him, and without hesitation, she burrowed within his embrace, whispering, "I hate this plan too."

~0~

Tawny did hate this plan. She hated it for the same reason Killian hated most of her plans – her partner would be in danger, and she wouldn't be there to watch his back. No, she had to rely on others to do that.

It's not that she didn't trust Will and the knight. No, even despite Will being a self-centered bastard without a heart to boot and Lancelot being an oathbreaker, she knew that they would do their best to keep him alive. But their commitment to that goal wasn't like hers. They wouldn't give their lives for him like she would.

So that morning, she kissed him goodbye, gave Will a brief hug, glared at Lancelot to ensure he knew what his sole purpose for this mission was, and then walked in the opposite direction of the trio under the ruse of needing to clean up …_something_. She just couldn't watch her pirate walk away from her. It had never worked out well for her when she had.

To keep herself occupied that day, she fished, did laundry, helped Alice and Cyrus prepare their meals, and helped clean up afterwards. For the most part, the couple respected her need to brood, but towards the end of dinner that ended.

Alice began with a hesitant clearing of her throat, before blurting, "So, pardon my curiosity, but, Gwen, were you ever in love with Will back in Storybrooke?"

Tawny stared at the young woman, trying to figure out where this question had come from, before she recalled that Alice grew up in prudish Victorian England. If Will, being the jackass he was, had alluded to the nature of their former relationship, then of course Alice would be just that – curious.

Her gaze turned thoughtful, as she answered honestly, "No, I never was."

Alice frowned at her admission. Emotions flickered across her pale face and in her blue eyes – confusion, disappointment, and relief.

She could guess at the reasons for all three – confusion, because the love-blissed girl could not fathom another reason for a lady to give up her virtue; disappointment, because her friend did not share her morals; and relief, because that meant that once Will had his heart and his Ana back, there would be no awkward clichéd love triangle.

She didn't hold any of these against Alice. What the girl didn't understand was that by the time Tawny knew Will, she didn't have any virtue to give. Not that she was going to explain any of _that_ to her. No, only Killian needed to know the details of her relationship with her 'husband'. But she could explain a little about modern world culture.

"Alice, I don't know how much Will told you about us," she began, and at Alice's crinkle of disgust, she huffed with amusement, "Apparently, enough and crudely, the tosser. Anyways…the thing you need to know about Storybrooke is that it is a town set in a world and time, in which waiting until one's married or even in love for …"

She paused, drifting off while she tried to find a PG enough description for her friend, before finally settling on, "…for that level of physical intimacy is unnecessary. And while Cursed, we were instilled with those kinds of morals." Goodness, even freaking pure-as-snow Snow White had had a one-night stand with Whale if the rumors were true.

Alice nodded, and then asked bashfully, "What other reasons are there?"

Trying not to smirk at Cyrus's sudden need to excuse himself to 'check the perimeter', she shrugged and answered, "Because they – _we_ wanted to."

She fervently hoped Ms. Curiosity wouldn't ask why she and Will had wanted to. As young, angry Gwen, she had several less than romantic reasons. Cathartic release, the desire to forget, the desire to inflict pain, the desire to _feel_, to be connected, to not be empty, to have some form of pleasure in a life that had experienced very little happiness and quite a bit of misery – all reasons that she did not want to get into on top of her anxiety for Killian.

Fortunately, Alice inquired instead, "But with your captain, it's more than that right? You called him your 'true-mate' when you introduced him."

Hugging herself and staring out into the woods that had swallowed 'her captain', she nodded and whispered, "Yeah, it's more. He's my other half," and then to lighten the mood, she chuckled, "Although, I'm not sure if he's my _better_ half or not."

Alice smiled at that, and they drifted off into thoughtful silence once again.

Tawny's thoughts wandered down the dark path of 'What if…?', and so she was grateful for Alice's next query, even if it continued this highly personal session of girl talk.

"How _is_ it that you two are together? I mean, I found it difficult to imagine the Gwen of my memory to be with a…with a…"

The girl floundered for a description so Tawny helped her out, supplying with a laugh, "Pirate? Bastard? Rogue? His favorite title is 'dashing rapscallion', by the way."

Alice nodded apologetically, as if she thought Tawny would be insulted for her describing Captain Killian 'Hook' Jones in such a way.

Tawny shrugged and grinned, "No worries, dear. I have called him worse and he _has been_ worse, once upon a time."

She looked at the girl and saw her brow crease in puzzlement, clearly thinking 'if so, then why?'

She shrugged again, and then answered her un-voiced question, "Killian at one point tried to figure this out too."

"And what conclusion did he come to?"

Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she answered slowly, trying still to not get into the whole Arthur thing. "After learning that I had once been hurt by someone for choosing the … happiness of the greater good over my own, even though the man seemed to love me, Killian believed that I could trust him, because he was selfish and an ignoble pirate."

"Was he right?"

At her question, Tawny smirked and slyly observed, "That he is an ignoble pirate? I thought we already covered that."

Alice rolled her eyes and exasperatedly, but affectionately nudged her shoulder before prompting, "No, his theory."

"Partly," she admitted, and then with a sigh she voiced what she hadn't that night up in the _Roger's _crow's nest, "You _can_ always trust a selfish man to choose the self-centered thing. The key is to always be _essential_ to his well-being."

Alice absorbed this thoughtfully, before sagely observing, "That puts a lot of pressure on you though, always being essential."

Tawny nodded in agreement, but couldn't keep a smile of fondness for her man-in-black from her face, "Yeah, if he was the typical selfish male specimen, it would be a problem, but with Killian…He's loyal and possessive. Once he commits to something, once he views something or someone as _his_, he never ever lets go."

Upon hearing this, Alice glanced down at her engagement ring and smiled softly, "I understand that."

Cyrus came back at this point, and the topic of conversation changed. But later that evening as she was standing watch and in between trying to not let her imagination runaway to the land of worst-case scenarios, she thought about what she _didn't_ say to Alice.

She didn't say what had always nagged at her in the back of her mind, when she considered her pirate's fine qualities of tenacious loyalty and possessiveness.

She didn't say that even though she may never have to worry about him choosing 'the greater good' over her or choosing someone new and shinier, she did have to worry about his affection for those who had come _before_.

Captain Killian Seamus 'Hook' Jones never ever let go of what was his. And she didn't know where she ranked in his collection, in his affection.

It shouldn't have bothered her. But it did. There had been whispers in Storybrooke as to the reason Jones was with her, had moved so quickly on to her, and, of course, being the Concerned Citizen, the maid who knew everything, she had heard them.

It shouldn't have bothered her, because he was here with her. He had followed her into Wonderland. _'Where you go, I go, love,'_ he had said.

She tried to take comfort in that. But there was no real comfort, for one simple reason.

He could die. All because of her and her quests, he could die.

_'Oh, merciful Lord, I'll do anything to keep that from happening…'_

~0~

_Whispering Woods_

They made it to the rendezvous point early, allowing for them to scope out the land and prepare for their less than trustworthy business partner.

Over the rustling of leaves and the sinister murmuring that earned the wood its namesake, Will heard Hook mutter, "...So this is why he said it would be a good place for an ambush. How the hell are we going to see anyone coming?"

"How in hell indeed?" spoke a voice somnolent voice from above.

All three of them looked up. And there in the tree, peeking out from behind its rustling leaves was wide smile and beady red eyes.

Lancelot's hand twitched to his sword, and Hook growled out a low oath. He, on the other hand, jumped back a step and attempted to look for escape routes while keeping his eyes on the capricious predator.

"What are you doing here, Chesh?" he inquired trying not to nervously swallow. Although he was stalling, it was a valid question. The Cat's usual haunt was the Tulgey Woods by Hatter's house.

"I'm hunting," purred the Cat, as his slowly materializing feline form began to slink closer to them along the tree's branch. "And look, what I found, Three Deaf Mice. I should have moved here ages ago."

At Cheshire's words, the other two men began to move as if they could out-flank the Cat. Knowing better, Will frantically searched his brain for some way to convince the fiend that eating them would not be in its best interest. Somehow, he didn't think pointing out that Hook's hook would gut him from the inside out would work.

_"Oh, speaking of the Bishop, I heard an interesting bit of news the other day...I heard that the Cat and the Crow are getting into a territorial pissing competition..."_

Liz's words came back to him in the blessed nick of time, because the fiend was positioning himself to pounce upon at least one of his Three Deaf Mice.

"So, Chesh, how would you like to stick it to the Crow?" he hastily blurted.

If possible, Chesh's grin got even wider, as he replied, "Better than canary, and the knowledge that I am depriving his pawns' of their prey will spice up the delicious entree you three will make."

"That's a valid point you make, Chesh. So valid that might I point out that if you let us play bait while we conclude our deal and then escape, you will not only have that knowledge but many more tasty morsels for dinner? But if you include us in your meal as appetizer, entree, or dinner, you will be doing Crow's dirty work for him?"

The Cat's grin disappeared momentarily, along with the rest of his body, and all Will could see was the angry, hungry beady eyes. And then the grin returned, as the somnolent voice purred amusedly, "You are not so much the fool as once thought, Knave. Be very grateful that the Crow has taken more meals from me than you did when you deprived me of that tasty morsel called Alice."

And then he was gone, and all one could hear was the trees' murmurs, his companions' collective sighs of relief, and his own muttered, "Bloody hell."

~0~

"Do you think that he will go through with it?" the Knight inquired.

Willy-boy shrugged, "Who knows? He's a capricious beastie."

"Wonderful," he muttered. Killian was reluctantly impressed with the way Willy-boy handled the demon-cat, but he was not going to tell the lad that. No, instead he began strategizing.

"Lancelot, if you take your position in the thicket over there, you'll have both cover and higher ground. Will? I suggest you find a tree that will give you both cover and the best possible view. In this gloom, we'll need a look out."

They did as he instructed without questioning – which he swore was a first for Willy-boy.

Not long after they were all in position, Jackdaw Rook showed up, stepping out of the whispering gloom, moments after Scarlet signaled with a soft owl hoot, and strapped to his back was the coveted blade.

"Well met, Rook," he greeted with a bow and congenial grin.

"Well met…? I'm sorry, I don't believe I ever caught your name, good sir," noted the man apologetically.

The hairs on the back of Killian's neck rose. The only reason a man like Rook made a point of knowing a man like he thought Killian was, was to discover if the man had any family he had to be worried about after killing him. _'Double-crossing blighter'_

But Killian knew how to play the game of Cat-and-Mouse better than most, so without pause, he replied affably, "Oh? I didn't properly introduce myself? Beg pardon, the name is Jones."

"Jones, huh?" Rook replied, his beady eyes narrowing in what Killian could only assume was frustration at not getting anything further, and then more business-like he added, "So Jones, did you bring my money?"

Killian drew from his satchel two bags full of coins. It was all the money that Tawny had won at the tables and most of the coin that he had earned. The brazen chit hadn't swiped all of his earnings like she thought she had.

Jiggling the bags so that they gave satisfying clinks, as he stated blithely but briskly, "Of course, all here. Do you have the sword?"

Rook shot him a disgusted look, sneering, "Of course, I do. What do you think is strapped to my back?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, mate. I see _a _sword, but I have yet to examine my merchandise to verify that it is _the _sword."

Rook grunted, partly in irritation, but also, Killian suspected, with surprised respect. He obviously hadn't been expecting the Garrulous Jones to be a savvy bargainer.

Finally, the man said, "Fair enough," and unstrapping the blade's scabbard from his back, Rook walked towards him with it held out in front of him palms up.

The blade was shorter than he expected. He had imagined that such a terror-inducing weapon would be the length of a great sword, but instead of being two meters, it was merely half that. The hilt was black leather, the cross-guard was a simple straight cross-bar, and the pommel contained a blood-red ruby.

Rook tugged the sword a few inches from its scabbard to show its inscription. The markings matched the images that Tawny had captured from the _Oraculum_. They reminded him of the strange ancient words written in Regina's and Cora's spell-book.

This was _Soul-splitter Nakephalé._

Upon seeing the markings, he dropped the bags at Rook's feet, so that he could grab the blade with his one good hand. All the while he silently cursed not having his hook in place.

He stepped back, gave yet another slight bow, and said, "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Rook. I hope you have better luck at the tables next time."

"Same to you, Mr. Jones," Rook returned with an obsequious smile. More slyly, he added, "Will I be seeing you at Caterpillar's again?"

Killian's smile was his most self-deprecating as he replied, "Well, that depends on how effective this beauty is, I suppose," and then he swung the scabbard around, looping it over his neck and shoulder so that the blade rested against his back like it had with Rook, before giving the man a final jaunty wave.

He was about twenty to thirty yards away when there was a startled and shrill _whip-poor-will _bird call. Just before some hired ruffian with a cardinal red scimitar raised above his head charged out into the open.

Will had provided enough warning that he was able to side-step the man and shove him face first into a nearby tree. A most satisfying crunch could be heard over the woods' cacophony. And then two more brutes appeared not too far behind him and much more cautious.

To Rook, he growled, "Are they with you?"

Rook shrugged and smirked unconcernedly, "With me? Not in so much that _I _brought them here. That would be cheating and you know how I feel about that. But…they are my brother's men, and _you_ did just acquire something of his, so…"

"On my own head, be it?"

"Precisely," the little odious man agreed as he leaned back to watch the show.

Killian pulled out his own sword, and not the prize, and faced the two men, who were attempting to circle and outflank him. He, however, was no amateur.

He faced off with the man on his left. The man lifted his sword in the en garde position. Killian feinted, and then spun into the man on his right.

Their swords entangled and so did their legs. He hooked his foot behind the other man's and swept it out from under him. His assailant fell to the ground, and he used his momentum to propel himself over the man and up the path.

The only man left standing gave chase with the other two doing their best to catch up. Fools.

Killian led them up and past the thicket before spinning once again to face his attackers. "Well, gents, like I told Rook, I'm Jones – "

"Don'd care," grumbled Broken-nose.

" – and this is my colleague Leviathan," he continued blithely.

"Hello."

All three men turned to look at the source of the low bass voice. Their heads craned upwards (and upwards) to meet Lancelot's cool dark gaze.

And this is when Killian struck. Not terribly good form, but it would do in a pinch.

He slashed at the wrist of the man nearest him. The sword dropped, and the man shrieked as blood began to gush everywhere. Oops, he had struck an artery. And then there were two.

Or so he thought, for when he had dispatched Broken-nose, he saw that two more had joined the fray.

Lancelot seemed to be holding his own against his first opponent and one of the new ones, but the third was giving him problems, as he was a dancer.

No matter. He _loved _to dance.


	10. There're Mates & Then There are Mates

**Chapter 9:**

**There are Mates & Then There Are ****_Mates_**

_Lancelot seemed to be holding his own against his first opponent and one of the new ones, but the third was giving him problems, as he was a dancer._

_No matter. He __**loved**__ to dance._

~0~

Killian maneuvered himself so that his back was to the Knight. The two of them were surrounded by their four still standing opponents – Lancelot's three and his remaining one.

He had a brief moment of hesitation. He wished Tawny was here at his back. She trusted and liked him, and he didn't think the Knight did either. Injury was bound to incur.

Dancer then made his move. He darted in and lunged. Killian parried. Cautious went for the opening, but he swung his left arm up and the blade was deflected by his brace.

And then it was a blur of parries, thrusts, counter-parries, feints, counter-feints, jabs, and stabs – all to the symphony of grunts, groans, hisses, and curses.

Just as they had cut their adversaries' numbers in half, Scarlet showed up, and on his heels the sound of startled screams and the yowls of a predator on the hunt.

The remaining two men's eyes widened in horror at the sounds, and nearly popped out of their heads at his warning words, "That's the Cat. If I were you, I would go and collect the Crow's brother before he becomes the Cat's dessert for the evening."

They recognized the wisdom of his words, and without really looking at Scarlet or the bodies of their fallen, they disappeared into the sinister gloom.

"Man, Crow _really _did not like the idea of the Sword leaving his nest. There was another half dozen mercs circling you guys. I managed to sneak up on two, before Chesh…"

Scarlet's report drifted off into silence as he shuddered at whatever it was he saw or heard. That was okay. Killian didn't need to know the details, and just so he wouldn't, he reminded his companions, "Yeah, let's go before the beastie decides that we would be tastier than his revenge, hmm?"

Again, no one argued with him. And why would they with those screams renting the air?

~0~

Lancelot was not sure where he would rank the past few days among the worst of his life.

There were the days he watched the woman he loved be the wife of another, a man he respected and loved in his own way. The days filled with envy and self-loathing.

There was the morning he woke up and found the love of his life no longer next to him, her and her belongings gone.

The day he heard that Guinevere the Fair had returned to her King. The moment that he knew she had left him to be Queen, that her love for him was not strong enough to overcome her hatred of her sister. She left him to deny her bastard half-sister, Guinevere the Lesser, her crown.

There were the lonely days that followed when he heard stories of his land torn asunder, of his brothers of the Round Table tearing into one another, of civil war, and he, the Oathbreaker unable to return as he had been the first defector.

There were the dark days of the Barbaric Invasion, the Fall of Camelot, the Last Day of Arthur and the vanishing of his Fair Queen.

Then there the days of his being the Leviathan, the days of attempted atonement, and learning that the king that he thought he was defending against the usurping shepherd boy and his followers was just as much of a monster as he was.

The days after time began moving again and he began searching for a way to find the woman who had stolen his heart and left him with nothing but questions.

He had become filled with hope when he had realized that in Neal's 'modern world' they had stories of people from all different realms. He had hoped that by getting to Storybrooke, he might discover in some story book what world Arthur and Guinevere had gone to. The two of them were larger than life, and he could not believe that they would not appear somewhere.

He had spent days in the town's library pouring over dusty tomes, when not assisting the town with its troubles. Days filled with dwindling hope.

The worst day was when he saw his love die on the tiny screen of the pirate's phone.

He did not know why he felt as if the past few days were the most unbearable of his life. But he did know that they were.

Perhaps, it was because he knew that there was not a world in this universe or any other that his love existed in.

Perhaps, it was because he knew he could never get the answers, the closure, he craved. He was stuck with a life of endless wondering…

Or perhaps, it was because he was traveling with a pair of reunited lovebirds, and he knew that was never to be his fate.

Or, it was because the woman who brought him here looked more and more like his love every day.

It was not just her physical resemblance he found irksome, but it was also this game she was playing with the men in her life. The man she claimed to be her 'true mate' she was pushing away and using her former lover to keep them apart.

He did not understand it, but it was unbearable. It was even more so due to the tedious bickering of the lover-boy – excuse him – lover-_lad _duo that traveled with him back to their mate.

The pirate had obviously never had any affinity for the knave, but his antipathy had increased exponentially over the past few days as the lady began to play her game. But in the past few hours, never more so.

It had started with the pirate asking how 'Willy-boy' had 'gotten the drop' on the two the knave claimed to have dealt with.

"Well, _Killy-lad_, while I'd love to say it was because of my own mad skills as a swordsman, but during that last year in Storybrooke, Gwen taught me a trick or two. As I'm sure you know, she's _quite_ the scrapper."

The knave didn't _quite_ leer at the last, but there was enough of a hint of it to set the pirate's teeth on edge, as he ground out, "Yes, my lass is."

"_Your_ lass?" the knave queried with a derisive snort. "From what I recall _the_ lass didn't like to be considered a possession."

"Hmmm…yes, she told me about that," the pirate replied with faux thoughtfulness.

"Told you about what?" the knave asked suspiciously.

"That she got skittish when she realized you and all your mutual friends thought her 'your girlfriend', as you were 'scrapping' together every other night in your apartment," was his matter-of-fact reply.

"_Skittish_ is one way of putting it," sneered the knave. Lancelot cringed. It was like listening to young Galahad and Gawain squabble over a blushing maiden.

If the pirate was as old as he claimed to be, one would think he would have more maturity than to bait the young knave, but alas, he did not. His taunting reply was to say amusedly, "Funny how she is now living in your old apartment."

"Using my TV, my fridge, and my espresso machine, I suppose," the knave replied dryly.

"'Waste not, want not', I believe has been her motto."

The knave snorted again and slyly declared, "Well then, thank you kindly, Captain. I now have a pretty picture in my head of Gwen wandering around in my flat, watching football, and drinking spiked lattes and wearing… oh, I bet, she would be wearing that shirt of mine that she always seemed to have an affinity for…"

And for some strange reason, it went downhill from there. There became an increase in the frequency of the pirate fondling his hook (which he had restored to its 'rightful' place) and accidental branch-smashing into the knave's face after the pirate would kindly hold a wayward bough out of Lancelot's face. And in retaliation there was an increase in 'naughty Gwen' stories, all of which had the tendency to portray Gwen and Will as quite the pair.

And then there was, of course, the sly commentary on the lady and the pirate's relationship.

"I'm curious, Captain…"

"A dangerous thing to be in Wonderland, or so I'm told," the pirate dryly observed.

"Who is it that wears the pants in your relationship?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but we both tend to wear trousers and each our own, Willy-boy."

The knave continued as if the pirate's deliberate obtuseness was of no consequence, saying, "I only ask because I've noticed that Gwen's been a might bossy since she's come to Wonderland, and it brings to mind what a demanding girl she could be when she was_ in a mood_. And – "

And before they were treated to a thinly veiled description of how good he was at meeting the lady's demands, the pirate cut in with, "Oh yes, she can be quite demanding when in a mood, but if you have the _stamina_ for it, her bossiness is not a difficult burden to bear…even pleasurable."

This time the knave's spluttering had nothing to do with a sudden onslaught of leaves in his mouth.

After that conversation, Lancelot suggested that the knave resume taking the lead, before one of the knave's eyes could be taken out by a flying branch. Or a hook.

What he really wanted to do was bang their idiotic heads together, but with how annoyed he was, he did not think that he could safely guarantee that their brains would stay on the inside of their skulls.

And he might need them later, if he wanted his day of justice.

~0~

_The Camp_

Alice was in the middle of her description of the first time she saw a mermaid and Cyrus was gazing at her with rapt attention and adoration, when the other half of their party returned.

Lancelot grunted a greeting before disappearing into the thicket.

_'What's the matter with him?' _She silently asked Killian, but he only shrugged in response, and then he gave a slight smile and a nod at her other silent question of _'Are you alright?'_

She was intently giving him a once-over to see for herself if his smile and nod had a basis of truth, when Will walked right up to her and threw on arm over her shoulder, pulling her to his side as he declared, "Hell-cat, we did it! Got the sword. Evaded the trap. And escaped the claws of the wily fiend. Where's my reward, love?"

Before she could shove off his arm or smack at him for his teasing attempt at getting a kiss, the reprobate was hauled off her and then _bashed_ in the face.

Will was hit so hard that he was knocked to the ground.

And standing over him was her glowering he-man man-in-black.

Over Alice's and Cyrus's protestations, she could hear Will muttering a few choice phrases, as he quickly sprang to his feet, looking as if he was determined to return the favor. But she had no tolerance for bullshit at this moment. So with her back to Killian, she ordered, "Oh no, _don't _even think it, Will Scarlet."

"But he – " he protested irately.

"I saw," she rejoined, before instructing firmly, "Get doctored by Alice or Cyrus, and remember – _he's not the enemy_."

When it looked like her friend was going to at least stop his advance, she swiveled around on her lover and barked, "And _you_. Come with me."

She led him down a deer path to a cluster of Wonderland-sized mushrooms. They were so tightly packed together that she suspected no one would hear Killian's howls as she yanked his head out of his ass.

Because sweet fairy godmother, she didn't know why she had just wasted hours of her life agonizing over those morons. She had had visions of the Crow picking over their bones, and the only comfort she could give herself was that they were working towards a common goal and would be looking out for each other, since she couldn't. But were they? Oh no, come to find out they were too busy trying to measure each other's dicks – as in which one of them _was_ the biggest dick.

When she whirled around to face the man she was willing to die for, he smirked and shook his hand, saying, "Well, lass, I don't know about 'hilarious', but satisfying, it is for damn sure."

His comment made her blood go from hotly simmering to boiling over. _'Did he really think quoting from her favorite captain-y character would make his he-man behavior alright? Really?'_

"What the bloody hell, Killian?!"

His smirk disappeared, and his blue eyes darkened to wrathful black, as he ground out, "He touched you. Like you were his. And called you 'love'."

"So?" she retorted dismissively, "That's Will."

He shot her a disbelieving look before growling back, "That's it _exactly_. He's Will."

It took her a moment to finally catch his implication – that because he _was _Will he actually had a claim on her heart. When she realized this, she couldn't help but laugh as she asked, "You're jealous of – of – Will?"

His hook twitched, his fist clenched, and his teeth ground together audibly as he glared at her, clearly not seeing the ridiculousness of it all.

"Oh. My. God. You are." She gasped in astonishment, before blurting, "Seriously, Killian, he's freaking in love with Anastasia the rutting bloody Red Queen for Pete's sake. Even without his bloody heart."

She tried to touch his arm reassuringly, but he shifted his weight back so he was out of reach, as he retorted coldly, "And you have a thing for emotionally unavailable men."

Her amusement at the situation and her desire to comfort him swiftly vanished, and it was her turn to growl.

"What the _hell_ does that mean?"

Un-phased by her icy tones, he sneered, "Think about it, _love_."

He said it, 'love', one of his favorite epithets of endearment, so vindictively that it felt like a slap in the face. She knew she had been pushing him away, keeping him at arm's length and using her friendship with Will as a buffer, but he was normally so perceptive…She had thought he would see, that he would _know_ that's all there was, and he would call her out on her avoidance of him, not _this._

She had thought that their partnership was open enough that he would confront her about her behavior, but not that he would lash out at her and even _hint_ at what he was suggesting.

"I heard and understood you, Jones, and I hoped you were going to back track out of the hole you just dug, because you are so far off course…" She responded as calmly as she could, but even as she warned him, she could hear her voice crack with frustration.

"Am I?" he rejoined, before counting on his fingers, "Arthur, Scarlet, even Jefferson…"

And that was the final straw. The gloves were coming off. The claws were coming out. Let the full rant mode commence.

"_Yes_! For one, while I am fond of Jefferson, he's like – like my crazy cousin and most definitely not the kissing kind. For another, while Will and I may share a twisted emotional bond and – granted – intense physical attraction, we never loved each other, not in that way, not in the way I love you. I didn't choose him for a partner. In fact, I specifically _did not_ choose him and _ended_ our 'dalliance'. But I did choose _you_.

"And as for Arthur, I told you once that I _could _have loved him – not did. I also told you that I am almost grateful for what Guinevere did because it set me on the path to you. Did you forget these conversations?"

By the end of this little speech tears of anger and frustration were threatening to spill over.

Killian either saw them or finally heard what she was trying to say, because he was rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and opening his mouth to apologize, backpedal, or something, but she was on a roll.

Holding up her hand, she declared, "But if you want to talk about competition, might I point out that I am not only competing with Milah's ghost for a scrap of your affection but also Goddamn Saint Swan?"

The rising lump in her throat nearly choked her, so she looked away, and when she was able to speak around it, she kept her gaze fixated on the dewdrop covered ferns at their feet, as she confessed softly but earnestly, "How do you think it makes me feel to know that if given the chance, you would choose them over me? That the only reason we're together is because I _am _available? That what everyone thinks back in Storybrooke is true, that you're settling for me?"

There was momentary silence, in which all that could be heard was her sniffing as her tears finally spilled over and poured down her face, and then her Killian crooned, "Oh lass…"

He pulled her to him, but she stayed stiff in his arms, embarrassed and vulnerable.

He ignored this and continued to rub his hand and the crook of his hook up and down her back as he confessed softly, "I'm sorry. I'm an old pirate, and I don't like to share, but that's no excuse for my lamentable behavior. But just so we're clear, us old pirates 'settle' for nothing. It's only the best for us."

"Bullshit," she murmured into his chest.

At this, he pulled back from her. Her body protested the lack of his warmth, but she did not have the energy to do anything about it, except watch him from beneath her wet eyelashes. She saw him sit down with his back to a mushroom trunk-stalk-thing, and then reach up to pull her unresisting, fight-free, and traitorous body into his lap.

Once she was comfortably situated with her head on his shoulder, her body nestled into the crook of his left arm, and her fingers intertwined with his, he declared, "My fiery lass, we should have had this conversation many moons ago, and I think neither one of us would be wallowing in such misery."

His grip tightening on her, he asserted, "It's true that if Rumplestiltskin had not killed Milah, you and I would not be together. But if that had happened, both she and I would be centuries long dead by now, so it is rather a moot point. I have grieved for her, and I have moved on. And what I have moved on to is not wanting."

This declaration was a good start in slaying her doubts about them as a pair, but then he went and said:

"As for Swan, it's true that if she had chosen me and not Baelfire, you and I would not be together…"

Tawny felt her body slump dejectedly, but what she really wanted to do was curl up into a ball and stuff her fingers in her ears so she wouldn't have to hear her insecurities about their relationship confirmed. However, a small part of her sensed a 'but' coming along, so she waited.

And was not disappointed.

"_But_ she didn't choose me. But if she was to suddenly, and unlikely, change her mind, leave Baelfire and choose me, I wouldn't have her. I would choose you. Not out of spite, but because for the first time home is where my heart is and you have my heart. Because you are more a part of me than my one good hand is. Because – "

With each word he spoke after that first 'but', she felt herself come alive and filled with such intense joy that by the third 'because' she could not contain herself anymore. She halted his heart-stealing speech with a kiss.

While Killian Jones was a man who had a way with words, he was predominantly a man of action and did not protest her attack at all. He in fact encouraged it.

~0~

_Meanwhile, back at the camp…_

"What was that all about, Will?" Cyrus asked him, as Alice handed him a cold damp rag to press against his cheek.

Will shot him a disbelieving look as he answered, "Um…crazy, violent, and possessive Captain Hook went off his rocker and punched me. Did something else happen? Because my head is a little fuzzy."

Cyrus looked at him reprovingly, the morally superior git, but it was Alice who clarified, "And are we to assume that his attack was not purposely provoked? You were hanging all over her."

"It's almost as if you have a death wish," noted the deep voice of the knight. Will nearly fell off his log in surprise, as he never heard the man return. To the others, the man said, "He was needling the pirate about his past history with the lady the whole way back."

_'Three against one? Not fair.'_

"Will! Why would you go and do a thing like that?" Alice cried in outrage.

"I wanted to get the measure of the man," he defended. "I may not be in love with Gwen, but I care for her. She's my friend, and _he's_ Captain-bloody-Hook!"

Alice and Cyrus looked at him blankly, so he explained, "An infamous pirate in our land."

Their expressions became far more understanding, if not less disapproving at his words, and Alice began to nervously chew on her lip as she glanced concernedly in the direction of where Gwen and the pirate had disappeared.

But the knight interjected, "He may have well been a villain, but that man is not the man that I know from Storybrooke. Killian Jones will do right by his mate, or die trying."

Will nodded, and to appease Alice, who he could not bear seeing her frown at him for long, said, "And I'll apologize to him when they return."

Much later when the pair did rejoin them, they were looking greatly disheveled, but far more content than they had been in weeks. He had to bite his tongue to refrain from making any comments (such as '_pleasurable_, indeed'), but he managed.

He did apologize, and the pirate graciously accepted it as well as extending his own apology. They would never be bosom buddies, but he could respect the man, especially, since he didn't once make a typical male post-sex boast to stake his claim. The man did indeed practice 'good form'.

After their mutual eating-of-crow, the pirate handed the knight the sword at Gwen's direction and asked, "So what's next?"

"Next," she replied amusedly, "We find a fairy godmother."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thoughts? Questions, Concerns, Constructive Criticisms?


	11. Alterations and Transformations

**Chapter 10:**

**Alterations and Transformations**

"And why do we need a busybody pixie?" inquired an incredulous Will.

Tawny shrugged, "Well, while you boyos were off on your little adventure, we three got to talking, and well, if I am to pass myself off as the Black Queen, I'm gonna need a serious make-over and few accessories."

She concluded her explanation with a wave at herself. Travel-worn and grubby in both clothes and body does not scream 'Royalty-Am-I', (not that she didn't bathe or wash her clothes, but river water is no match for a gilded tub or legion of royal laundresses). And her short dyed hair and work-worn, if manicured, hands were far too modern-Gwen-McKinley and not enough Tanwen-who-is-also-known-as-Guinevere-the-Lesser-or-the-False.

Killian, who gave her an appreciative look-over (clearly not minding her grubby state), asked shrewdly, "So why don't you make a Wish? And cut out the middle man?"

"Technically, I'd still have a middle-man…" She answered with a nod at her very own genie.

Her man was not amused, judging by his censoring look. She wondered if his disgruntlement had more to do with continued pirate possessiveness of _his_ woman or with her Master-genie relationship with Will, which might bring to mind some seriously kinky imagery…

Before the drama of the Killian-Gwen-and-Will show could begin again or before her mind could travel too far down the wonderful, but salacious road of Role-play, Cyrus cut in, explaining, "As Will has recently learned and from my many years of experience, genie magic has the unfortunate tendency to twist the Wish against the wisher."

"All magic has a price."

No one else heard her pirate's mutter of the Crocodile's favorite catch phrase, but she did. Squeezing his hand briefly in understanding, she whispered thoughtfully, "Yeah. And genie magic seems to work on a yin-yang balance scale."

More audibly for the others, and more defiantly for Will, she declared, "_So_ (a) I'm not going to risk any bad ju-ju jinxing or bollixing anything up, and (b) I don't want to be the idiot wearing the genie-made choker around her neck and have it decide to 'Choke her', thank you very much."

Will held his hands up in defense, as he replied, "Alright, alright. Point made. Do you three have any idea where we can find a fairy godmother?"

Alice looks at her friend both imploringly and apologetically.

Tawny was not sure what the back story was to that look, but whatever it was, it caused Will to immediately take a backpedaling step and frantically assert, "Oh no. Oh no, no, no. and bloody hell no."

~0~

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Uh-uh. Didn't you learn your lesson the last time?"

So declared the tiny dark-haired fairy, who also happened to be waving her wand threateningly at Will, much to hers and Killian's vast amusement, possibly Cyrus' too.

"You're right." Will swallowed nervously, admitting, "This is a bad idea. In fact, that's what I said when it was first brought up."

Silvermist continued as if he hadn't spoken, "I mean, _really_, why on earth would I help you, especially if it meant helping out _her_?"

Before Will or anyone else could answer, Will's last statement caught up to her and she declared even more irately, "Wait. _Just one minute. _Why did you think it was a bad idea? Do you not think of me capable of taking the higher road?"

"Oh, I believe it," Will retorted scathingly. "You'd take me with you, and then drop me over the side of a cliff and into the sea…_again._"

Over her responding high-pitched sputters, she could hear Killian's mutter of disbelief, "How does he do it? The queen, Tawny, Lizard-lass, and now this fairy."

Tawny leaned over and whispered back drily, "Same way you do – the accent and bad boy charm, darling."

Cyrus interrupted the entertaining tableau to say, "As _fascinating_ as this little lovers' quarrel is – "

"_Ex_-lovers' quarrel," corrected Silvermist.

"Just so," he acknowledged diplomatically with a nod, before continuing, "I'd like to point out that you'd not just be doing Will and the Red Queen a favor, but you'd be helping in saving lives."

He then proceeded to explain the potential execution of Red nobles.

At the conclusion of his speech, Silvermist sniffed dismissively, "I'm not entirely convinced that they don't deserve it."

Poor Cyrus stared at her dumbfounded. He had obviously, in his long genie life, had never come across a jaded fairy. Tawny, herself, could not help but mutter to the pirate, who was Tinkerbelle's 'friend', "There's a reason she's in Wonderland and not among Blue's gaggle of goody-two-shoes, don't ya think?"

He, the charmer, merely snorted.

Sweet Alice continued to advocate for their cause, "She had the White king and queen unjustly killed."

"For not honoring their oaths and being more concerned about their power than the people, just like _your_ Red Queen." She sneered the last at Will.

"She killed Queen Guinevere and King Arthur so that she could become a Queen of Wonderland herself. Where is the honor and justice in that, milady faye?" interjected Lancelot, his deep melodious voice crackly slightly from the depth of his emotion.

It was most likely this that arrested the fairy. Her indifferent demeanor vanished and she gazed at him sadly, before finally replying, "You speak truth…And there's none. I liked Arthur of the Round Table. He had potential."

There was another contemplative pause before she fixed Tawny with a shrewd look, "I will do as you ask, but for a price."

Killian stiffened next to her at those words, and made to move protectively in front of her, as if this Arthur-admiring fairy might be a minion of the Dark One. But she merely stuffed her curiosity down and resumed her poker-face to begin the bargaining.

Arching an eyebrow, she waited expectantly for the fairy to continue.

"You're from Storybrooke, aren't you?"

Both eyebrows went up at this.

At her lack of an eager or any other emotional reply, doubt flickered across the fairy's face. Good. Now the little pixie would be wondering how much Tawny wanted her help. Would it be more or less than whatever her desire was?

The fairy's resulting uncertainty must have been enough to unsettle her, as she grew to human-size to even the playing field, before babbling, "I ask, because I heard you mention Blue, and I know she and 'her gaggle' got swept away in that Curse…"

Tawny blushed slightly at her comment to Killian being overheard, but only admitted coolly, "Yes, I am."

"Well then," the dark-haired beauty declared with the straightening of her shoulders, "I will do as you ask, if you will promise me that upon your return, you will find my sister Violetdew and let her know…" She then leaned over to whisper into her ear, for her ears only, "_that I'm okay, that I love her, and that I'm sorry I left without saying goodbye._"

She kept her face blank and bit her tongue to stop herself from asking all sorts of questions that this request begged to be asked. Alice would have, but Tawny knew something about painful pasts and open wounds. Besides, if she did ask, the fairy might not be so accommodating, so she simply nodded and said, "I think – "

She stopped and looked at her partner inquiringly. She did not want to make a unilateral decision for them both.

Killian gave her a reassuring nod, so she finished, "I – we – can do that."

A relieved smile spread across the fairy's face, followed by a cheerful declaration, "Let's begin!"

Taking deep breath, she stepped forward and placed herself willingly into a fay creatures hands, saying wryly, "Alrighty. Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo me."

~0~

With a wave of her wand, silvery-blue smoke swirled around and enveloped her.

Her body began to tingle as if a thousand granules of sand were scouring her skin and scalp while a thousand soap bubbles were caressing her. She could feel her hair lengthen and be twisted up in an elaborate knot of curls. She could feel a light breeze swirl around her as her form-fitting trousers, tunic, and corset disappeared, and in their place was the heavy weight of petticoats, corset, gown, and cloak. Her lace-up boots were replaced with more lady-like walking shoes. And most importantly, around her neck, she could feel the cold metal of the hideous choker.

When the smoke cleared, she glanced down to see that her cloak was made of fine silvery-gray wool and that her dress, which had a square-neck line, long flowing sleeves, and flowing skirts, was a dark blue that was noticeably not Black nor White nor Red and reminded her of…

She glanced up at Killian to see his irises were dark indigo with _want_ and she could feel herself blush like some debutante maiden, while at the same time she was longing to pounce upon him and satisfy all those desires swirling feverishly in his eyes.

Their spell was broken by both Will's low wolf-whistle and Alice's pleased gasp of appreciation, causing her eyes to dart around and notice her audience.

The most troublesome one was Lancelot's. His face was Sorrow and Grief.

And her pleasure at Killian's open admiration dimmed. She knew she could not offer the knight any comfort, especially not when she now looked as she once did. But she could offer him a chance at closure, a chance at satisfying retribution.

She gave him a grim nod of understanding, before saying, "Thank you, Silvermist."

"You just hold up your end of the bargain," dismissed the fairy.

"I will," she promised, and then inquired beseechingly, "This all won't disappear at the stroke of midnight, will it?"

Silvermist and Cyrus looked at her in puzzlement, obviously not getting the reference, and the fairy even went so far as to say slowly as if to a child, "No…as that will do you no good, when _the trial_ is scheduled for _two_ _days_ from now …but it will slowly fade in about a week's time."

She grimaced, trying not to imagine how it would look for her hair to grow _shorter_ in that time frame as well as trying not to say anything particularly catty in response to the fairy's condescending tone. Will Scarlet sure knew how to pick 'em.

And she was not so full of herself that she excluded her Cursed Gwen-self from that list of 'them'.

Alice and Cyrus made polite goodbyes to the fairy, while Will and his pixie ex exchanged barbed retorts.

As soon as she was gone, Killian dryly commented, "Well, lass, it was a good thing that bit of spiteful sprite did not know about the two of you and your time in Storybrooke…I imagine that you would have been better off making a Wish, jinxes and all."

She fingered the hideous thing as she glowered at him, mouthing "Bite me".

"With pleasure."

~0~

_Late morning, the next day…_

After their meeting with Silvermist, they turned their path back towards Castle Obsidian. Tomorrow morning, their group would have to split up as they joined the crush of people that would be clogging the main roads to see the Red Queen's downfall, but today they were keeping to the lesser paths.

They were quieter than they had been. There was no gossipy chatter between her and Will about various people from Storybrooke or tales of adventure from Alice and Cyrus. The barbed remarks between her pirate and the former thieving forester had stopped after her and Killian's little chat and round of make-up _reunification_.

She herself was so lost in her thoughts that she was hardly even cursing at the snagging branches or biting bugs. And pray tell, was she so preoccupied with? The impending day of doom? What she was going to say to Langwidere that would trick her into exposing herself?

Oh no. She was thinking upon her dress. Yep. She was officially a _girl_.

But in her defense, it was a remarkable dress and cloak and well, ensemble. Normally, by this time, with the sun high in the sky and their grueling pace through woods that were thick with muggy heat, she would be clammy with sweat and her clothes would be less than fresh due to her perspiring and the dirt and leaves and such that clung to her clothes.

But she was spotless. Not a speck, not a sprig, not a drop of perspiration. That was _some_ magic, and it made her wonder if she underestimated the cost of playing messenger between the sister sprites.

She might have. After all, Arthur had met his final fate by just being a 'simple messenger'.

Her musings were interrupted by Killian, who inquired pensively, "Tell me, lass…how are we going to guarantee that the Black Queen will go through with the execution?"

Over Will's snort of disbelief, he continued, "I mean, as I understand it, the genie's master cannot be killed until he or she makes the Wishes…"

Ahead of her, she could hear Alice mutter, "Oh sweet Lord, how could we have forgotten _that_?"

She hadn't known that little detail, but it would certainly explain the why behind some of the Possible Futures that the _Oraculum_ had shown her.

"Well, we will just have to give it back," she answered.

"And how do you propose we do that, lass?" Killian questioned dryly. "When we stole it the first time, you pointed out that Alice, Cyrus, and Will were too recognizable, and while you no longer resemble Gwen McKinley the thieving maid, you cannot do it or your grand identical twin moment will not happen. The knight cannot or he might not be able to enact his role as executioner."

"Are you volunteering, Captain?" Cyrus asked.

"No, he is _not_," she hastily cut in. It had sounded like he was going to do that very thing, and she couldn't have that.

At everyone's shocked and speculative looks at her almost panicked tone, she blurted briskly, "Rule No. 11."

Killian's concerned expression transformed into amusement, as he recalled, "Ah, yes. 'Never ever _volunteer_ when you can delegate or shanghai someone else into doing your dirty work.' You, my pirate apprentice, _were_ paying attention in our lessons. You may graduate to the top of the class, when you provide us with a suitable candidate or solution to this little quandary."

She took a swig of water from her canteen to stall as she searched for a solution. She _needed_ to find one, and she wanted her man-in-black's approval. Both motivations were very distracting.

Finally, she stated aloud, "The reason I made such an excellent candidate the last time, aside from you all being terrible ones, is that I have exceptional skills at blending in and sneaking into places I shouldn't be…So do you know anyone here in Wonderland that resembles that remark?"

"Lizard," Will reluctantly declared. "I taught her everything I know."

"Not the greatest recommendation as you have your face plastered all over wanted posters, lad," Killian noted.

For once, Will did not snipe back. He merely shrugged and stated, "Yeah, well, she wasn't trying to be a certain someone's thorn in their side."

"She is going to be there anyways," blurted Alice, causing everyone to stop and stare at her in bewildered amazement, even her fiancé looked at her in shock.

Nervously, she rambled an explanation, "I, well, she, er, told me, that is, that she would be there in case we needed her." At Will's glower, she added, "And I think she would be quite upset if we didn't use her – "

"Use her!" was Will's irate protest, to which she interrupted with, "Well, I do declare, Miss Alice Kingsleigh, you have been hiding an ace up your sleeve! You naughty thing, you."

Her tone was admiring but her words and batting eyelashes were coquettish, causing Alice to blush and hesitantly say, "Thanks…?"

And while the girl got over her Victorian vapors, Tawny said to Will, "We won't be 'using' her. We'll just be taking her up on her offer of assistance, _and_ we won't be needing her to place your bottle back in her blinged-out cabinet. All Lizard will need to do is place it with a note in a public place so that any of her people can make her aware of its return."

Her argument seemed to satisfy him, as he gave a grudging nod. This seemed to be the signal that Cyrus was waiting for because within minutes a message was formulated, written, folded into swan shape, and sent off like a homing pigeon.

Not long after, they resumed their arduous trek, but not their silence. Will sidled up to her, saying, "So I've been meaning to ask you…If Giselle the hairstylist was Rapunzel, does that mean Fitz was the rescuing prince?"

She laughed a most un-lady-like laugh, a half-guffaw half-snort, before managing to reply, "Sorry, no. He was a thief. And how did you know that he would be her hair-climbing rescuer?"

"Good God, the town locksmith was a thief? And who else would it be? Those two were like Han Solo and Princess Leia before Cloud City."

And so they continued the rest of the day.

~0~

Hearing his lass and Scarlet reminisce throughout the day did not bother him as much as it had a few days ago.

It could be that he was more confident in their relationship after their talk and then their 'talk'. Or it could be that they now had bigger things to worry about – such as how she was going to trick the Black Queen into revealing her true character.

His lass was a clever chit, but he would need to work on a back-up plan, as per Rule #4.

His plotting was interrupted by the lass in question letting out a contented groan. He looked down to see her dangling her feet in the cool running water of the creek, while sitting on a rock with her skirts hitched up around her waist. Her shoes were on the rock beside her.

At his smirk, she whined, "She may have excellent taste in fashion. She may have been wise in bespelling my clothes to be filth-free. But clearly the be-winged fay creature has had no need to develop an appreciation for comfortable, arch-supporting walking shoes."

Glancing around he noticed that the others were busy about their business of setting up camp and the like and that the two of them were for the moment all alone. So he asked the question that had been burning the tip of his tongue all afternoon.

"And why is it that I _must _not volunteer to return the bottle? And do not give me the malarkey of Rule #11."

Her feet stilled in the water at his question, and she kept her gaze fixed on them.

He had been studying this woman for quite some time, and he had begun to categorize her silences. This was one of her Reluctant Silences. It was not the kind in which she did not want to tell him something and was desperately trying to find a way to throw him off the scent. No, this was the kind in which she was preparing to remove her armor and let him see the Tanwen within.

Recognizing this, he reached over and turned her face towards him with his hook, and with his hand he brushed her loose curls behind her ear, so that he could stare into her amber eyes, as he reminded her, "Hey love, if you were to give me your heart, I would cherish it more than life itself."

Her eyes closed briefly as she turned her head into his hand, almost nuzzling it, before opening them back up. She stared at him imploringly as she whispered, "I – I can't do it."

"You can't do what?"

"I can't go out there and face a jeering crowd, a crowd that lusts for blood, not alone," she confessed.

"Oh lass," he breathed, realization dawning on him.

His woman, who had been kidnapped, nearly publicly tortured for a horde of villainous bloodthirsty thugs, and only saved by being privately beaten to near death, was going to intentionally draw the eyes of a revenge-seeking, justice hungry mob.

His woman, who had been accused of being a treasonous witch against her king by her own sister and nearly burned at the stake by pious crusaders, was going to confront a queen who literally wore the visage of said sister and who had the zealous devotion of pious knights to defend her 'honor'.

His woman, who disliked being in Granny's when there was a crowd, was going to lose her head – figuratively and then literally.

"So what is it that you need from me, love?"

Taking a steadying breath, she answered, "I need you to be somewhere within my line of sight at all times. If I can see you, know that you are there, I'll be able to go through with this."

"I can do that, my love," he promised without hesitation.

She smiled at him tenderly, murmuring only "I know," before kissing him.

~0~

Later, much later, when Killian and the others were in their deepest sleep, Tawny gathered her fine wool cloak around her and went and sat next to Lancelot, who was standing watch.

"Do not take this personally, milady, but your presence is most unwelcome at this present time," he rumbled softly.

"I know," she acknowledged gently, but continued on anyways. "But tomorrow, so many things can go wrong…and I have a favor to beg of you in case it does."

He did not turn to face her, but his whole body went momentarily still. His eyes quit scanning the forest around them. It was impossible for her to tell what he was thinking, but when his chest began to rise and fall again and his head cocked slightly to the side in her direction, she took it to mean he was not _un_-willing to listen to her.

"If things go tits - er, sideways, um, son of a bitch, whatever – " she took a deep calming breath, and tried again, less awkwardly and less _colorfully_. "I suspect that I won't be able to save myself with a Wish, and possibly, no one else either, so I need you to…"


End file.
